Federation Overlord
by Omega Overlord
Summary: Story 5: Bjorn Killgore, grandson to the God of Evil, sets out on his own with the blessings of the entire family. Of course, his adventuring causes nothing but problems for those he invades, intentional or not.
1. Prologue

Prologue: Sendoff

Netherworld:

Erasmus Killgore was usually not one to stand on ceremony. Case in point, he'd never formally married any of his brides; Velvet, Sophitia, Taki… none of them. Everyone involved just sort of fell into a mutual agreement that things were as they should be and started using the appropriate pronouns to refer to each other. That sounded rather dry, and indeed there was much more to it all, but that was the concise version of his living arrangements. Today though, today he was willing to make a break in this self-imposed pattern for a special occasion. Today he was fortunate enough to bear witness to Bjorn, his grandson, set off on his first deliberate adventure through the void to another universe. Acheron had specifically requested that they all be present, which was a very nice gesture considering that his eldest son hadn't been a father for that long. The self-titled pirate had even gone the extra mile and opened a large portal-window so Shirahoshi could watch the proceedings from her grotto in the deeper reaches of the Netherworld as was her right as mother to Bjorn. The giant mermaid was, in a completely normal turn of events, softly crying as her "little boy" got ready to depart.

He loosed a single, small laugh to himself. "**Ha, 'little boy' indeed. Ten and a half feet of armored muscle that makes me look like a twig in comparison. Yes, he is most deserving of the moniker 'little.**"

A shadow fell upon him, and he craned his head back to look up at Bjorn before the young man spoke. "**Well Granpa, I iz guessin dat dis be goodbye fer now.**"

He reached up and set his right hand upon Bjorn's left shoulder. "**It's only goodbye if you don't come back. And I have every confidence that you will do so in glorious triumph.**" He glanced at the wire-wrapped handle protruding over his grandson's shoulder beyond his hand. "**I trust that you find your going-away gift to your liking. It took me a whole day to set the metal properly for such a massive weapon.**"

"Massive" was a bit of an overused word when it came to large blades, but Bjorn's blade most definitely deserved such distinction. A full meter longer than Soul Edge, and countless kilograms heavier, and yet Bjorn held it in one hand like a toy, a toy the boy had promptly dubbed "Da Mega Choppa." Lacking in originality, most likely, but certainly descriptive. Besides, it was Bjorn's weapon, he could call it whatever he liked.

A big grin spread across his grandson's face. "**I luv it. I'z gonna krump loads a gits wif it. Unless I shootz dem ta deff first.**" The grin vanished and the giant looked upwards thoughtfully. "**Hmm, I can't fink which I likez more. Shooty or choppy, choppy or shooty…**" About six seconds of silence passed before Bjorn shrugged his burly shoulders. "**Eh, it don't mattah. Both iz loads of fun.**"

He forced a smile to match and pet the boy's shoulder. "**That's the spirit. Whatever suits you at the time.**"

Bjorn started to turn around to eagerly move towards the walls of the Netherworld and the multitude of static portals dotting the wall. Before the boy could charge off into the great unknown however, an even larger arm reached across the balcony they were all gathered on and latched onto Bjorn's retreating left arm.

Shirahoshi spoke through the portal-window, around her extended arm, amazingly subduing her almost ever-present tears. "Now Bjorn, you come back and visit me, ok? Mommy's going to miss her little boy."

Bjorn immediately did an about-face and lumbered over to the portal-window, sticking his head through and planting what he assumed was a very loud kiss on Shirahoshi's cheek. "**I'z gonna miss you to ma. I'z promiz ta stop krumpin ta see ya every week.**"

Mother mollified, Bjorn turned and started moving towards the walls again with gusto, but Acheron loudly cleared his throat. "**Ahem, Bjorn, maybe there are other people here that have things to say before you run off.**"

The young giant stopped, one foot suspended in midair, for a stretch of several seconds before spinning about and abashedly chuckling. "**Eh heh heh, I'z suppoz dat you'z right pa.**"

With that bit of prompting Bjorn began to make a slow circuit of the throne room balcony, exchanging cheerful pleasantries with varying degrees of familiarity to the gathered family members. The green-eyed boy took notably longer to work through the panoply of women that made up Acheron's harem, but such was the numerical difference. Bjorn stopped outright in front of Persephone, his aunt despite the detail that she was two years younger than him, for a long moment.

Persephone fidgeted awkwardly. "**Ah, ahem…**" The young woman rallied her composure. "**I wish you luck with your-**"

Bjorn picked the girl up and hugged her, inadvertently causing several almost disturbingly loud pops to issue from Persephone's back. "**Thanks Auntie. You'z ben great fun, leadin me to all doze places wif ya, an all da fun fings to krump dat was in em.**" Bjorn stopped hugging the young woman and held her out at arm's length. "**Youz sure dat ya don wantz ta coma long wif me? I be sure dat dere gonna be a load a gits to stomp.**"

The family's sole Overlady shook her head vigorously once she was put back on the ground. "**I'm sure Bjorn, but thank you for offering, again. You go along and have some fun on your own.**"

Acheron, not to mention most of the other people in the room, gave Persephone a long, skeptical look before stepping forward before Bjorn could wander towards the portals again. "**Hey there big guy, you weren't going to go off, um, 'krumpin' without saying goodbye to me, now were you? I'd feel a little bit offended if you were.**"

Bjorn's face twisted up into a miffed scowl. "**I'z sorry pa. I'z juz really wantz ta get out dere. Da boyz be waitin on me. And dey don do waitin dat well. I'z probly gonna hav ta knock a few on da ead to get em finkin straight for wen we gets ta stompin. I'z da boss, dats wat I'z do.**"

Acheron nodded once. "**I get that, but you're my kid. It's my job to see you off, so…**" The young man held out his arms and gestured with his fingers. "**…How about it. I know you're a big fan, and I can deal with it, just this once, since it's such a big day.**"

The green-eyed giant looked at his father for a moment, and it eventually dawned on the boy what Acheron was giving him permission to do. Bjorn seized the chance happily, scooping Acheron up in another crushing bear-hug that audibly stressed the recipient's spine. The boy laughed merrily, and Acheron, though obviously extremely uncomfortable, faked a laugh convincingly enough that Bjorn seemed heartened by it.

The young giant dropped his father and gave all present one last boisterous wave. "**Fanks, all of ya. Now I'z really gotz to get movin.**"

Instead of waving a hand and calling one of the floating rock discs to ferry him over to the walls, Bjorn simply squared up with the edge, a good three meters back.

Sophitia, standing just a short ways off to his left, voiced what they were all thinking, in perhaps different words. "**Oh gods, he's not going to…**"

Indeed, with a bellowing war-cry Bjorn took off at a dead sprint that shook the balcony and leapt for the portal walls. "**Ere we go!**"

The young giant flew like a rock, awkwardly and at a poor angle. Bjorn's limbs flailed as if the boy were trying to swim, and oddly it seemed to actually buoy the short flight. Bjorn sailed straight through one portal, although likely no one but the giant himself knew if it were actually the one he had been aiming for.

With Bjorn gone, Acheron immediately turned towards his sister. "**So, what's this I learn just now about you leading my kid around, doubtlessly doing your dirty work for you?**"

Persephone looked relatively nonplussed, apart from the blush suffusing her ivory face. "**I really don't see the problem here. Bjorn was clearly enjoying himself, as he just told everyone.**"

Some of the assembled family started filing away, and he chose that moment to comment. "**I think it's more the spirit of the issue Persephone, the surreptitious manner in which you acted. Bjorn has proven himself an exceptional warrior, even if he is particularly undisciplined. And from that stems the concern, he's reckless. You bring him to situations that you clearly think, either that you can't handle alone, or that you don't want to bother with.**" He shifted his tone into pure authoritarian. "**That conveys a certain lack of respect for us, your own family.**" He gestured towards one of the Brown minions milling about the stairs to the Forge. "**Those are our minions, your minions until you deign to employ something different. Do not make the mistake of considering us in the same capacity.**"

Persephone's face turned brilliant red. "**I, ah…**" Her eyes fell. "**I, I'll try to think about that in the near future.**"

His daughter made a slow about-face and trudged off towards her room. He felt bad about berating Persephone like that, but he had a gut feeling that he was unfortunately going to have to do that same thing periodically for a while to undo some of the potentially destructive habits she had been demonstrating that were likely directly derived from her utterly spoiled upbringing.

Acheron sauntered up to him, closing the portal to Shirahoshi's grotto with a hand wave. "**Well, that was a first. I can't remember you ever chewing Persephone out like that before.**"

He shot a sidelong glance at his son. "**Make no mistake, I did not derive a single shred of pleasure from that. But, she has to learn that there are limits to her authority, specifically us.**" He looked off towards the portal Bjorn had vanished through. "**I do not dispute her point, Bjorn did seem like he genuinely enjoyed himself wherever Persephone brought him. But doing so behind our backs, behind your back especially…**"

His eldest just shrugged nonchalantly. "**Well, I guess it is what it is.**" Acheron stood there in silence for a long while as the balcony emptied of everyone but them, staring after Bjorn. "**Hey, you think the big lug is going to be fine? I know he's practically made of iron but still…**"

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "**It speaks well of you that you show concern, even if unwarranted. I'm sure he'll be fine. If he doesn't drown something in bullets or chop it in half he'll still have the protection of that unorthodox army he is so proud of. And they are all almost as tough to kill as we are, not to mention utterly ruthless when roused.**"

Acheron chuckled lightly. "**Yeah, yeah I guess they are at that. I think I might even have to shoot one of them more than once with Soul Calibur to kill it, and that's fucking tough.**" After another long moment jabbed a thumb off towards the portal on the wall that led to the "pirate" world that Acheron had been taking over when he returned. "**Hey, you want to go and grab a drink? I mean, I know it's not exactly your thing and all…**"

He let out a short chuckle. "**As was this entire affair with seeing Bjorn off. Seeing as how I've already broken that aspect of tradition, I see no harm in sharing a drink with my own son.**" He held up a hand and waggled a finger at Acheron. "**Quid pro quo though, one crack about my age and I'm gone.**"

His son scowled before shooting back a pointed remark. "**Jeez, times like this I really wish we weren't incapable of getting drunk. A few drinks might loosen that stick up your ass…**"


	2. Vanguard

Chapter 1: Vanguard

Deep Space: GFS Olympus

Samus Aran considered herself a very dedicated woman, dedicated to the cause of galactic genocide against the Space Pirates. As such, she felt justifiably annoyed when she was called away from that self-imposed duty to do something else. Yes, a "Priority Alert" from the Federation was a very big deal, and due to her stint serving with them, not to mention her still standing debt to Adam Malcovitch, she felt obligated to assist whenever asked. Did that mean she had to be happy about it? No, not at all. Especially when she all but knew it had nothing to do with her hated adversaries.

As she walked through the boxy halls, iconic power suit casting a reflection on the walls, the federation marines she passed saluted her; which was a little but amusing considering she had absolutely zero actual rank in the Federation. She supposed that was the "benefit" of becoming such an absolute icon, legend even. It was further amusing to her that there were likely still marines, people in general, out in the galaxy that assumed the stories of her accomplishments were nothing more than fairy tales. Those marines on Aether certainly had, all expect for that one female marine, Angseth wasn't it? A few eye flicks brought up her logbook on the inside of her faceplate and confirmed it. Even now, the entry gave her a bittersweet twinge of pride. She had been Angseth's idol, inspiration if she were bold enough to assume. That made her feel good. The bitter part came when she considered that perhaps Angseth wouldn't have been on Aether when things fell apart if she hadn't been inspired, but that was a rather pointless train of thought. "What if's" only ended up confusing issues and making her head hurt.

A light cough grabbed her attention and brought her to a halt. A few paces to her front, and slightly to her left, Admiral Dane was waiting for her across a large holo-table with a stern scowl etched into his face. Then again, he always looked like that, or had in her experience with the man.

The admiral cleared his throat and began speaking. "Samus, I appreciate you being so prompt with this. I assure you that this matter coming to an end swiftly is in all of our best interests."

Taking advantage of the fact that her visor was just about opaque from the outside, she dramatically rolled her eyes. She wanted to drop a heavily sarcastic "No, really?" but managed to restrain her tongue. Although it would be nonetheless interesting. She'd never really been much of a talker, and it was likely the marines just assumed she was incapable of speech. On the contrary, she just never had that much important to say.

Dane continued. "I would like to be up front about this. It was not my idea to send for you. I've no doubt you have far more important things to be doing to keep the galaxy safe, exterminating the Space Pirates, but someone over my head is calling the shots on this." The holo-table lit up, displaying a large, rocky planetoid. "Have you heard of the Petrarch system?**"**

Sending a critical glare towards the hologram she ran her scan visor over the image. At first, it looked like a barren ball of lifeless rock, but then, that was sort of her specialty. After a little bit of scrutiny she started to pick out the rough outlines of manmade structures, soaring spires and squat, simplistic buildings. Her suits databanks informed her that this was a fuel processing plant, the largest one in the galaxy. She likely could have kept reading, but the admiral seemed intent on telling her anyway, so she simply shook her head once.

Admiral Dane touched a few buttons, causing the hologram to zoom out to encompass five planets. "This is the Petrarch system, producer of approximately thirty five percent of the usable fuel in the galaxy. The fuel is extracted on the outer planets, and from the system's plentiful asteroids, and taken to Petrarch Prime for processing. Understand, this is a core-ward system, so we have never had any reason to think that it would ever be under attack…"

She mentally added the "until now" before Dane had gotten even a quarter of the way through that little speech. Already, she was weighing in her mind what might have happened. Did the miners dig up something they shouldn't have; a Chozo ruin that reacted aggressively via decaying programming? Some sleeping monstrosity that would take all of an hour to deal with? She liked helping people, no question, it just constantly astounded her how, bluntly put, dumb people could be sometimes.

Dane's words floated back to her attention. "…The token force of marines was slaughtered to a man. The miners were all killed. All we have to go on is this one video one of the marines uploaded before he died." The man hit a few more keys. "This is the highest quality video we could manage."

Turing her attention, morose though it might be, towards the hologram she watched with only mild interest. A squad of five marines were fortifying a location just behind a solid looking, metal slab of a door. Fearful, yet determined whispering was passing between them. A few tables had been upended to use as makeshift cover, and the marines were bracing their suit arm-cannons on the edges. However, the end result had been spoiled, the marines all died. The only potentially interesting thing would be if she could identify…

The hologram door crumpled open like a piece of paper, and a gigantic figure marched through wielding the biggest gun she had ever seen. The simple sound of it spinning up, and the figure's riotous laugher as what looked to be kinetic rounds utterly ripped the marines apart as though they were little more than limp sacks of meat was disturbing on a primal level. Strangely though, the figure looked human, even if on a larger scale. But what was piling through the doorway around it, only a passing comparison could be made. Burly, hunched over creatures on two legs holding crude weaponry that looked like it was held together with spit and hope charged through and utterly savaged what was left of the marines. Their senseless bellowing was deafening, even second hand through the recording as they fought tooth and nail with each other over the bodies.

The recording cut off abruptly, and Dane spoke immediately. "I apologize, but I would rather only see what happens next once in my lifetime." The man's expression, if it was even possible, grew even more stern. "I don't consider myself a man given to exaggeration. But I've seen what the Space Pirates are capable of, and that was worse by an order of magnitude. I would personally like to just bomb the entire planet from orbit, or barring that launch a full-scale invasion to avenge the people we lost down there on Petrarch Prime. But, we're the Galactic Federation, we have protocol to follow, and this regrettably counts as a first contact scenario. We need to at least attempt to make contact with their leader, the giant from the video if I'm to make an educated guess, and attempt diplomacy. If, and rather _when_ that fails…" Admiral Dane let out one crass huff. "Well, it seems someone over my head at least shares my doubts about the effectiveness of negotiation with these apparent barbarians." One button was pressed, and the hologram vanished. "So, your mission, if you feel you can spare the time, is to descend to Petrarch Prime and seek out this leader and make at least an overture of civility. Kill him, it, whatever, when it tries to kill you anyway." A cruel, and yet almost reassuring smirk twisted the man's mouth. "I'd say your record speaks for itself. You've dealt with far more dangerous situations than this. And, if it makes you feel slightly more inclined to accept, I've been told to offer you triple your usual rate for this job, provided that the facilities remain in reasonable working order." Admiral Dane's expression became outright mirthful. "Ergo, don't blow up the planet."

A scowl materialized on her face. Sure, it was likely just a good-natured jape, but it wasn't like she _intended_ for planets to blow up once she set foot on them. Zebes and Phazae were just unique circumstances that she had had no control over. The former was destabilized by Mother Brain's destruction, and the latter had more or less been part of Dark Samus. She was only sorry about the former, due to a handful of good memories she had of the Chozo that had lived there and raised her.

Admiral Dane became serious again. "So, can I ask you to take a bit of time out of your busy schedule to deal with this? As I said, it shouldn't take too long, and you have the entire Federation backing you up if something unforeseen happens."

She thought for a moment. Yes, it was a minor delay, and triple her usual fee was an exceptional incentive, even though she _did_ usually do things pro bono for the Federation. And of course, the poor people that whatever those things were had killed, they deserved justice. She didn't think this was something that the miners had brought upon themselves, this was an invasion. And she could certainly empathize with the fallen. She nodded her head once and made an about face to head back to her ship.

Petrarch Prime: High Orbit

Samus Aran eased back on her ship's stick, pulling up the gunship's nose and guiding it over the vastly larger hull of one of the multitude of Federation cruisers in orbit of the largest planet in the system. Admiral Dane hadn't been joking when he had said she would have the entire Federation behind her, it felt like it. But she was under no illusions that they would be much help considering the content of that dismal holo-recording. With proper fortifications and a great deal of heavy weapon support, perhaps they could hold a position, but she doubted they would get the chance. More than likely, considering her past missions, she would deal with everything single-handedly and be on her way before the day was out.

Still, the sight of so many ships was rather impressive. The sheer volume of military tonnage in orbit was enough to raze a planet of Earth's size many times over. It spoke volumes of the value of the Petrarch system that the Federation was willing to dedicate so much hardware and manpower to liberate the surface. She had to wonder, whatever had invaded, when they looked to the sky and saw these metal leviathans did they feel fear? Did they regret what they had done and the consequences that they had invited upon themselves? Credit where it was due, the Space Pirates at least expressed regret when they realized that they had caught the attention of a force that could utterly annihilate them, usually her. But that was exclusively regret at getting caught, not regret for the actions that got them caught. She took a perverse sense of delight in reading their private tales of woe, their little complaints about sundry problems caused by her direct or indirect action. Their sense of panic when the Pirates realized that their data security was completely useless against her suit's hardware. The increasingly elaborate building materials when her arsenal had evolved beyond their capacity to deny her admittance… things like that.

A hail lit up her ship's communications equipment, and with a single key press she opened the channel to the rather dry voice of a male marine. "Miss Aran, please broadcast your authorization code."

Four button presses later she received confirmation and authorization to proceed. It was a formality, and nonetheless a nuisance, but it was an understandable hassle. Security had to do their jobs, and even though no one had yet tried to hijack her image to accomplish something underhanded, it could happen.

The voice came back, beyond the scope of security. "It's an honor to have you here Miss Aran. And, if you'll excuse my presumptuousness, I'd like to offer a small warning. Those, things, or whatever they are, have been setting something up down there. None of our scanners can identify what, but on the off-chance it's an AA gun here are the coordinates and an estimated field of fire. Recommend you adjust your approach seven degrees port."

A semi-impressed smirk twisted her lips. It was a nice gesture, even though her own ship's instruments were already picking up the indicated structure and offering a similar, and slightly wider, field of fire. Most Federation staff would likely just assume that she could figure it out on her own and leave her to it. She adjusted her angle of descent eight degrees to the left and closed the line.

If nothing went wrong with her planet-fall she would touch down in the mess of crags to the west of the main complex. It stood to reason that that was where the majority of the invaders would be gathered, whether they realized the value of the structure or not. The maze of rock would also give her ship a decent amount of cover, and a place to return to if she needed to call in a bombing run or two.

With a few key strokes she set her destination and stood from the pilot's chair to stretch before she had to do any jumping around that might actually save her life. Three steps away, and an impact rocked her ship so hard she was pitched helmet first against the back wall.

Petrarch Prime: Planet Surface

Samus Aran's eyes snapped open, and she immediately stifled a groan. Apparently, her ship's computer had underestimated the range of that AA gun, or something else had shot her down. Either way, whoever did it was probably on their way to try and finish the job and she had to get moving.

Her HUD lit up, running a status check on her suit. Mercifully, nothing seemed to be out of order. Her missile battery was still fully loaded, her twelve energy tanks were still full, minus a small hit from ramming her head against the bulkhead. Her power suit still possessed the varia upgrade, as well as the morph ball, space jump, grapple beam, morph ball bomb, boost ball, and charge beam functions. So, in a shocking shift from usual, she hadn't lost anything. Which was a good thing because she didn't think that there were any Chozo ruins on this planet, or any other sufficiently advanced civilization of a similar caliber.

The state of her ship though, that was another story entirely. There were gaping rents in the hull that let in streams of light that fractured off of the dust filtering in in an admittedly beautiful display, which did little to offset the scene of ruin. The computers were all broken, monitors shattered and exploded, vomiting their metal guts out across the devastated remains of the helm. The hatch to the outside, provided she didn't feel like just scrambling out of one of the voids in the hull, was the only thing that didn't seem ruined, although it didn't look like it was receiving any power.

She scowled, and from her supine position she raised her arm cannon, armed a missile, and blasted the hatch apart. She could worry about getting her ship repaired later. And that "triple usual rate" would probably cover things nicely. After all, her ship could recover from a heavy lightning strike just fine on its own but now, but the old world phrase that came to mind now though, was _totaled_. She arched her back, thrusting her hips upward and vaulting to her feet. And then she froze. Something was scrabbling around outside, and a shadow passed over one of the holes in the hull.

A loud, booming voice speaking a crude dialect of common barked out orders. "Oy, get da mekboys out ere. Dis kan lookz like it'z got lotz o gud flash stuff. An find out where da git or gitz is oo waz flyin dis fing."

She found herself a little bit stunned. Whatever these things were, they sounded like complete morons. And yet they manage to shoot her ship down and massacre an entire, albeit sparsely staffed, Federation Marine barracks? Granted, no one had to be a genius to operate a gun, but still, she had come to expect a certain level of sophistication from her enemies. This was shaping up to be easier than she had thought.

She took one step forward and vaulted up and out of her ruined ship, landing on top of the holey hull and snapping her arm cannon in the direction of the voice she had heard. Now, she had seen a lot of things while she had traveled the galaxy, but this was something else. It was a hulking green, humanoid beast with a big, blocky head and an even bigger, fang-filled mouth. It had beady red eyes that glittered with bloodlust. It was covered in patchwork metal armor sporting a nonsensical amount of spikes. And it was holding what looked to be an extremely crude version of a… she wanted to say axe but it looked roughly similar to a sword as well. Which of course made one of her eyebrows twitch upwards incredulously.

Silence fell for a short moment, which was abruptly shattered as the whole lot of the things roared "WAAAGH!" Or something, at the top of their lungs and rushed her. She started shooting, plugging burst after burst of laser fire from the power beam into the chest of the first beast. Ten shots, nothing, twenty, still nothing, thirty, and then forty, fifty… Just as the first creature got close enough to bring its crude melee weapon to bear she armed another missile and let it fly, aiming slightly higher. The explosive sailed right into the thing's mouth, blowing its head apart in a shower of red gore. But the next was right behind it, completely undaunted by the death of its fellow. One of its big, booted feet came up and it kicked at her, but she dove to the side and off the wreckage of her ship, coming up firing another missile. This one would have struck true, but the green skinned beast repaid her evasion with a bit of its own, by simply ducking and letting the ballistic projectile fly clean over its head.

Another cry rang out, one as almost unintelligible as the first one. "Get da shootaz, an da Warboss!"

She would assume that the "warboss" was the hulking, even by the standards of the things she was shooting at, dark figure from the recording. If so, now would probably be a bad time to face them, surrounded as she was on almost all sides by stupid tough alien monsters. She half turned to run, rather, a tactical retreat, and found one of the creatures right there, its fist already ninety percent of the way to colliding with her helmet. And collide it did, knocking her flat on her back before she engaged the morph ball and rolled off a short distance before getting right back up and shooting off another missile. This one, again, was evaded, likely due to her reeling from the force of the punch. These beasts were frighteningly strong, likely capable of literally ripping her in half were she not in her power suit, and the punch had shaved a full thirty units of energy off of her shields.

She dove forward, engaged the space jump, and sailed over the monster that had punched her towards what she recalled as a clear passage out of this little kill bowl. It was still clear, and she ran for it while spraying laser shots wildly behind her as she went.

A roar and an order was bellowed. "Get dat shiny git! I'z wantz dere ead for mah pointy stick!"

She shook her head as she ran, easily outpacing the hulking brutes until their bellowing war cries faded into the distance of the brown, stone labyrinth she had always intended to land in. Just not in flames. After a good long moment, one which passed without a raucous roar, she paused to let out a long sigh and take stock. She had expended only three missiles, leaving her with exactly two hundred and forty six counting the one she had used to blast her way out of her ship's carcass. If she aimed well, that was two hundred and forty six more dead beasts. If there were more of them than that on this planet, and she didn't find some way to replenish her supply, she was going to have to find out the hard way just how many laser shots it took to put one of these things down.

A scuff of metal on rock up ahead snatched her attention, just in time to see another of the brutes round a corner. Unlike the other beasts this one seemed armed with a gun, though it was no less crude than any of the melee weapons she had seen. That seemed to matter little though, because with a crass laugh the beast raised the weapon and fired wildly from the hip, putting out an absurd number of shots that made it completely impossible to avoid in the narrow crevasse. She was pummeled, and every shot sent genuinely painful vibrations through her suit like her shields weren't even there. The charge of her shields also plummeted at an alarming rate considering that these were undeniably kinetic projectiles as opposed to any laser technology.

She snapped her arm cannon up and fired another missile, but it was blown out of the air only inches after it left her weapon. So, she did the only thing she could do, she turned around and ran back towards the melee focused beasts that had originally been chasing her. After rounding a corner the punishing volley of bullets ended, but her stressed breathing didn't. She had sorely underestimated this collection of brutes. Just because they seemed stupid didn't mean that they weren't dangerous, as her short encounter had just proven.

"WAAAGH!"

Her gaze snapped up, to identify a beast that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and was already right in her face, weapon raised. She moved to do the same and back away, but the creature had far longer arms than her and swung its blade in an arc that was deceptively fast given the beast's bulk. The blade, against all reason, cleaved her suit and bit into her side. She stuck her arm cannon directly under the monster's chin and loosed another missile, obliterating its head.

And then the pain hit. Shock was blocking some of it she was sure, but, how? Her shields hadn't even reacted. It was still a shallow cut, one that wouldn't slow her down, but… how?

A heavy clomp, clomp from behind warned her that the beast with the gun was approaching, and she made fast tracks back towards her ruined ship. Perhaps she could shoot her way out and make a break towards the mining facility…

She rounded a corner into a wide space, encountering not just the bunch of brutes she had been fleeing from in the first place, but also a behemoth of a humanoid leaning on a sword twice as long as she was tall and in exquisite condition compared to the weaponry of the beasts she had been fighting. It was the figure from the recording, the one that had torn apart the marine squad like so much wet tissue paper. What she only noticed just now was the eyes, twin emeralds set in a face that was otherwise as black as coal. A trend that the rest of the giant's exposed skin, of which there wasn't much, followed.

The humanoid spoke, using the same crude tongue as the green-skinned creatures. "**Well, ello dere ya shiny git. You ben avin a nice time smackin mah boyz about ave ya?**"

She didn't answer, instead taking the time they weren't attacking her to run her scan visor across one of the beasts flanking the black-skinned giant. What she got confused her to say the least. Her HUD told her that the creatures were part animal, and part fungus, with powerful regenerative properties and incredibly resilient hides. As if she didn't know the latter already. She didn't get a species name, which meant that the Chozo had never encountered these things before. And that was unnerving.

The giant spoke again, a note of irritation entering its speech. "**Nuffin ta say? Youz dakka one a mah boyz ta deff an youz got nuffin ta say bout it?**"

She turned her scan visor on the giant, realizing that she was running very short on time. But the scan on this "Warboss" only confused her further. The giant was human, at least partially. Her scan detected at least fifty percent human DNA in the behemoth's genetic composition. The other half seemed similar to human DNA, but not quite. Her visor also couldn't make any combat recommendations, which was rather bad considering that she was headed for it.

The green-eyed giant's face twisted up in an angry scowl. "**Ok den, youz don wan to talk? Fine. But if youz ain't good fer talkin, youz better be good fer fightin!**" The Warboss lifted the giant blade next to him and slammed the point into the stone, shaking the whole area, before unlimbering the giant gun she had seen in the recording. As he pulled the trigger, the Warboss roared that same cry, "**WAAAGH!**" Only at a significantly louder volume. So loud in fact she felt the ground and her suit shake.

Contrary to the little incident with the beast in the narrow crevasse she actually had some room to maneuver, and even with that edge it took a lot of effort to avoid the stream of what she at least assumed was lead. Not that she got off completely untouched, every few seconds a round would hit her suit and feel like a tank shell. Thankfully, this gun seemed to have a tighter spread than whatever contraption that shooting beast had been using, so it removed some of the element of luck.

She ran to her left, abruptly switching directions and diving through the barrage of bullets to the right to roll to her feet and launch a missile. This shot could not have been aimed more perfectly, it sailed straight and true, and swallowed the Warboss's head in a cloud of smoke. She smiled to herself. Another job well done, as soon as she got clear of these green beasts to call for a ride off of this dismal rock.

Then that voice chimed in again. "**Ey, was dat supposed ta hurt?**"

She felt her mouth drop open as the smoke cleared and revealed the Warboss's face, completely untouched. A ballistic missile to the face, and he just laughed it off? What kind of human was this giant freak? Stunned adequately, she didn't move before the Warboss brought his gun to bear on her again, and the punishing volley repaid her pittance of an attack a thousand fold. Chest, knee, arm, face… too many hits to keep track of that flung her about like a rag doll and all but completely drained her shields and put her flat on the ground, face up.

Dazed by one too many hits to the helmet, she was nonetheless able to hear the heavy thud, thud of the dark giant's approach. "**And nowz I krump ya, ya stupid git.**"

She saw a shadow rapidly descending, and threw all her remaining strength into rolling to the side. An impact still struck her, one strong enough to instantly knock her lights out.


	3. Among Da Boyz

Chapter 2: Among Da Boyz

Petrarch Prime:

Samus Aran found herself in a bit of a twilight. She didn't really know if she were alive or dead. It was like, standing in a black room filled with smoke, and there was a grey line on the floor that represented the living and the not. A confusing analogy, but, if she were dead could she really make that kind of thought? She didn't know, she'd never died before, nor had she spoken with someone who had. The conundrum was abruptly solved for her, by something warm, metallic, and most importantly, _sharp_ prodding her left butt cheek.

She shot up with a jolt, eyes snapping open almost painfully fast as she tried to immediately identify where she was. It was a bright, fairly clean metal room with one large metal table roughly in the middle of the room, which she was currently sitting on. One wall was covered in small metal hatches… And that was when it hit her; she was lying in the _morgue_. Maybe she really had been dead… or maybe this was just where they had decided to dump her.

That was when a voice spoke up from her immediate left. "**Oh, so you iz awake. Datz good, I fink.**"

Slowly, so slowly she could almost hear her neck creak like a rusty door, she turned her head towards the voice. What she feared was immediately realized, the Warboss was crouched right next to the metal slab she was sitting on. He was wearing a completely dopey smile, as if her "waking" was the best thing that had happened all day. She really couldn't care less, and she immediately brought up her right arm to shoot him in the face… at least she would have if she had been wearing her power suit. As it was she was left with pointing her right fist impotently at the Warboss's face while reflexively miming the "fire" action for her arm-cannon.

The giant looked down at her extended fist for about a full second before looking back at her face. "**So, hello?**" A big, awkward grin that showed all of his, oddly, shining teeth stretched across the Warboss's face. "**Eh, I'z just want ta say dat I ad no idea dat youz waz a lady when I clubbed ya. So…**" The humanoid reached up and bashfully scratched the back of his head. "…**Sorry?**"

Far from the intended effect, or at least what she would assume the intended effect to be, she was instead profoundly insulted by the apology. This "man" was saying that the only reason she was still alive right now, and there was no point in denying how utterly screwed over she had been, was because she was a woman. If looks could kill, the glare she was shooting at the black-skinned giant would have wiped out all life in the galaxy in the general direction she was looking.

The Warboss seemed oblivious to her hateful glare and held a hand up near where her fist had been hovering. "**Erm, so, I iz Bjorn. You iz…?**"

She had no intention whatsoever of answering, and instead continued to just silently glare at "Bjorn." She wasn't going to be pleasant with him, not even if her life depended on it, screw the diplomatic overture. She had half a mind to try and contact the Federation, not that she knew how exactly she would do that, just so she could inform them to start dropping bomb, or troops, or however they planned on retaking this rock.

After a very long moment of silence Bjorn glanced down at his hand, up at her, back at his hand, and back to her. "**Dah, can youz talk at all?**" At her continued silence the brute scowled. "**Hmm, what iz I supposed to…**" Bjorn snapped his fingers, which sounded loud enough to be a gunshot, and stood up. "**Iz got it! If da lady don't know what I iz sayin, den she eiver don understand or can't ear. Maybe if I actz what I is tryin ta say out-**"

Mortified at the idea of sitting there while this giant moron tried to act out a simple hello she cracked and spoke up. "Ok, no! I can hear you just fine!"

Bjorn crouched again, bring his head down even with hers. "**Ya can? Den why was ya bein so quiet?**"

She rolled her eyes and muttered quietly. "Someone here has to be."

The big brute apparently had good ears, because he immediately asked; "**Waz dat mean?**"

Caught out, she shut the conversation down. "Nothing, nothing at all." She looked down, noting again the multi-hued blue of her zero suit, and she aired the appropriate question. "What did you do with my suit?"

One of Bjorn's hands reached up to his face and scratched at his chin. "**Suit? Hmm, Oh! Dat must be dat tin can youz waz wearin wen I almost krumped ya. Right?**"

She felt an involuntary eye twitch start acting up, so profound was her rage at this oaf calling her power suit a "tin can." She wanted to go off, tell him that that suit was worth more to her than the entire Petrarch system. That it was her heritage, the only reminder she had of the Chozo that took her in… There were so many reasons that she could barely call them all to mind herself. However, the most pressing reason right now was that without it she was just about helpless. If a missile to the face hadn't even left a scratch on Bjorn she wasn't even going to bother thinking about how she would kill him without her arsenal, to say nothing of the rest of the green-skinned beasts.

She swallowed her anger, almost literally, and slowly nodded her head. "Yes, that. Where is it?"

A big smile lit up Bjorn's face. "**Da mekboyz gotz it. An dey be fixin it up good an propa right now.**"

The concept of any of these moronic things "fixing" something was difficult to believe at best, but she kept that thought to herself. "Can you take me to it?"

The giant nodded enthusiastically. "**Sure fing, an I can giv ya da tour at da same time.**" Bjorn stood up, just about brushing the ceiling with the top of his head, and beckoned to her. "**Dis way if ya like.**"

She slung her legs around and slid off of the mortuary slab, following Bjorn, but as far away as she could reasonably manage without making it obvious. If this fool wanted to show her around, fine, it would just make things easier when she either escaped or called in the Federation. She supposed that perhaps, since she was here she could attempt to open "diplomacy" as per her assignment, but she figured that it was up to her discretion whether or not talking would help anything. And currently, that was a big fat _no_.

Bjorn started talking, not looking at her but his voice was more than loud enough to compensate. "**If I don't point somfink out datz cause da boyz be sleepin in dere.**" After two left turns and a right the Warboss stopped and pointed at an open door on the left of the hall. "**Dis ere be da mezz 'all. If da boyz ain't fightin, lootin, or sleepin, deyz probly in ere.**"

Curious, and not just because of the cacophonous symphony of noise blasting out of the room, she stuck her head around the corner, and just about had her head blown off by what she at least assumed was a stray shot. The green beasts were engaged in a full on brawl, fists flying, teeth flashing. Incoherent obscenities and even more unknowable terms were being thrown about as liberally as the blows. She actually fought the urge to smile. If the beasts were this disorganized they would fall apart like wet paper when the Federation army landed, no matter how tough they were individually.

One more bellow completely drowned out the din, Bjorn's. "**OY, da zog youz all doin? I'z said if youz wantz ta ave a scrap youz don't use any choppy or any dakka! Throw sum grotz if youz feel like it, but datz it!**"

Not too much visibly changed, but the sound of gunshots promptly ceased, only to be replaced by the dementedly amusing sight of tiny version of the green monsters getting flung through the air as makeshift ammunition.

Bjorn sounded mightily pleased. "**Right, carry on boyz.**"

The giant gestured to her and started walking again, taking longer strides that forced her to move a good deal faster to avoid getting left behind.

Bjorn took one right turn and pointed out an open door on the right. "**Dese are da squig penz. Go on, ave a look.**"

Skeptical that the Warboss was actually encouraging her to observe she nonetheless did as he suggested and stuck her head around the corner, albeit much more slowly. This sight was a little more impressive, if far more revolting. The side of the building had been torn off to expose a large patch of the planet's surface to the elements, and amongst the squalor under an evening sky little things were being tended by the "grots" Bjorn had suggested the beasts in the mess hall throw at each other. The little beasts were hideous, even by the standards of vermin she had seen around the galaxy. They looked more or less like walking mouths with two feet and more teeth than there were stars in the galaxy. One of the "squigs" turned towards the door, and with a snarl and bark that sounded disconcertingly like a dog the little monster started to rush her and Bjorn.

The giant behind her reached down and grabbed the little beast by the top of its head with his left hand, effectively rendering it completely helpless. "**Now dat ain't very nice.**" Bjorn wound up and cocked his arm back to hurl the squig but stopped and let out a little gasp before turning back towards her. "**Ey, youz wantz ta see somefing?**"

Completely beyond caring, she rolled her eyes and shrugged. If it was another monster, she wasn't going to be impressed.

Bjorn lifted his right hand to his lips and let out a piercing whistle before shouting. "**Lumpy! Where youz at boy?**"

The ground started shaking, and not just a tiny vibration. This was almost a full earthquake that made it difficult to remain standing. From out of the setting sun a shadow appeared, and it got bigger, and bigger still as it approached, with the quaking only rising in intensity. It got so bad that she had to brace herself against the doorframe. But even that wasn't enough to prepare her for the sight that skidded to a halt in front of Bjorn, a beast the size of one of the Federation cruisers in orbit above. Countless tons of green, scaly hide covered in armored plates made the thing look like an oversized dinosaur. And the three horns on what could be called its face, one on its nose like a rhino and two hooked ones on the sides of its mouth like an elephant, only made that metaphor stronger. And Bjorn was scratching its chin like a dog.

Beaming with undeniable pride Bjorn looked at her over his shoulder. "**Dis iz Lumpy, da best squiggoff a Warboss could eva ask for.**" The gargantuan creature slumped down onto its belly and Bjorn promptly started scratching it just behind its nose horn. "**Sometimes Iz ride im into da fight, although e don't like dat very much cuz I'z so eavy, an sometimes da boyz juzt load im up wif all da dakka e can carry. An dats a lot a dakka, but not enuf.**" The man laughed uproariously. "**No one can eva ave enuff dakka!**" The laughter diminished until it was only a mischievous chuckle, which was still booming enough to leave a dull throb in her ears. "**An sometimes, sometimes Iz just throws im at gits just ta watch em all get squashed.**"

She just sent the man a flat stare. Sure, he might be strong enough to use a sword that was twice her size and a gun that looked at least as heavy, but claiming to be able to even lift a creature of that size, let alone throw it any distance. She shook her head silently. Clearly this idiot wasn't just stupid, he was delusional to top it off. Yes, diplomacy was looking worse by the second.

Bjorn started bellowing, and she assumed he was talking to his behemoth of a pet. "**Ok Lumpy, you see da squig?**" A booming "bark" was the answer. "**Fetch da squig boy!**"

She looked up just in time to see her buffoonish guide cock his arm back and throw the squig he had picked up like an expert pitcher. The only notable difference was that the thrown beast was on a trajectory that was more likely to take it into orbit than have it come back down anywhere on Petrarch Prime. She found herself a little impressed by the feat, and had to wonder just how strong this "man" actually was. Surely not strong enough to lift that gargantuan creature that was thundering out in pursuit of the flying squig, but clearly damn strong all the same.

Bjorn started speaking, absolutely radiating pride. "**Heh, Lumpy iz a gud squiggoff. E'll chase dat fing till he runs round da ole rok and figures dat it ain't comin bak down. An e'll still come runnin wheneva Iz call im.**"

Acidic sarcasm almost literally dripped from her tongue. "Sound like a _wonderful_ pet."

Bjorn, clearly, didn't hear the snark. "**I know, idn't e?**" The giant turned towards her, still smiling. "**Youz wantz ta look at da squigs sum mor or doz youz wantz ta move on?**"

She scowled viciously. "Not at all. And I'd appreciate no more detours."

The Warboss looked at her silently for a moment, and then shrugged. "**Datz fine. Da mek shop waz next anyway.**"

She silently let out a sigh of relief. If this oaf was a trusting as he seemed he'd probably just let her have her suit back, even if it was damaged it was a whole lot more than what she had going for her now. Was it a bit cold of her to abuse this odd trust that the giant had towards her, yes. But she wasn't feeling all too charitable towards a character that had smacked her around like a toy, even if he "felt bad about it" now. She was still fuming as she followed Bjorn, and her anticipation was building up like it had been when she fought Ridly while falling down that shaft. Like then, she assumed that this would end in violence. Only this time she wasn't as completely confident she would win.

Bjorn held out an arm to the left. "**Ere we are. Da mek shop.**"

She brushed right by the Warboss, certain that, even in a pile of cobbled together filth that her power suit would be easy to find. What she did not expect to find was a fairly orderly workshop filled with the green beasts, some of which looked to have cyborg replacement parts for eyes, limbs, occasionally most of the body. One of them was working on something orange, and when she saw it her heart sank so low and so fast it would have hit the planet core if it weren't stuck in her body.

Her suit was in pieces, which she had at the very least suspected. What she did not, and indeed could not have expected was that the majority of the pieces had been slaved together in a grotesque parody of what her power suit was supposed to look like. It was bulky, like it was covered in cancerous tumors of what seemed to her entirely superfluous armor, covered in spikes. Her arm cannon had been hacked off and replaced with a weapon that looked like a piece of junk, and probably was. It looked like a gun for heaven's sake, kinetic projectiles were infinitely inferior to laser weaponry. The only reason those bullets had hurt her shields so much was that… actually she couldn't answer that question. But the fact still stood that her Chozo battle armor was being destroyed.

She marched right up to the half-machine beast tinkering with her suit and shoved it, which admittedly didn't move it at all. "What do you think you're doing?"

The "mech boy" she had pushed looked justifiably confused. "Iz fixin da zoggin tin kan like da boss told me to."

Again that "tin can" comment, and she started to rip into the creature. "And just how do you rate my suit as a…"

A sight on the table beside her butchered power suit caught her eye, and made her spirits sink to a whole new low. There was a small mound of what could only be described as sludge on the table, but if it was what she thought it was then it spelled ruin.

She pointed at the meaty, pale orange mound. "What, what is that?"

The mech boy answered promptly, and matter-of-factly. "Dat fleshy muk was stikin to da kan when Iz cracked it open. Iz scraped it all out soz Iz could get ta work."

For the first time in a very, very long while she wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. The organic components of her suit was what had made it special, irreplaceable. Without those, it was just a chunk of metal, and there was no saving them, of that she was absolutely certain. So, she settled for punching the mech boy in the face with every shred of strength she had, and all she managed to do was make the beast look even more confused.

Bjorn spoke up, and he seemed to share his underling's mindset. "**Eh, youz don like it?**"

She whirled on the giant, heedless of what trouble her tongue might get her into. "Like it? HOW COULD I LIKE IT? YOUR GOON DESTROYED EVERYTHING THAT MADE IT SPECIAL, EVERYTHING THAT MADE IT MINE!"

She felt terribly like a child throwing a tantrum, but what else could she do right now? Her suit was ruined beyond all reason, she was more or less a prisoner among a group of monsters that could rip her limb from limb as an afterthought, and she was cut off from the Federation…

The mech boy scowled indignantly. "I iz not a goon, I iz an Ork, an don you foget it ya squishy humie."

She ignored the "ork" and picked up her helmet, the only piece of her suit still not completely mangled. "I don't care what you are. I'm just going to save this before you ruin it too."

The cyborg ork grew incredibly irate. "Ruin? Iz ruined nofing. Itz bettah den it eva waz. Watch dis!"

The mech boy pressed a button on a small device in one of its ham-sized fists and there was great rumbling and clanking behind her. Once she turned around, she was greeted by the hulking, headless form of her power suit, standing on its own with a big plume of black smoke billowing out of a stack on the back. She heard the click of another button, and the "new" arm cannon raised to hip level, firing level.

The mech boy bellowed. "Ere we go!" *click*

Out of some unknown instinct she threw herself to the side, just before a blinding flash of light screamed through the spot where she had just been standing. The shot continued on completely uninterrupted all the way to the distant metal wall, where it blew a gaping hole in the thick plate steel and toppled a crude ladder with another ork on it.

Bjorn, and she knew it was him because of how obnoxiously loud it was, started clapping enthusiastically. "**Whoo! An datz wat a beamy deff gun is supposed ta do, blow fings up!**" The Warboss looked down at the cyborg ork. "**What else did ya put in it?**"

Impressed, but not enough to stick around, she started edging her way around the babbling group after standing up off of the floor. "I'll just, find myself an empty room."

Just before she got to the door Bjorn spoke, presumably towards her. "**You'z sure? Youz ain't even seen all da fun, orky bits mister Wrenchfist as put in yer kan.**"

She waved the giant off and ducked out of the "mech shop" and off into the depths of the facility. Left, right, right again, she made herself good and lost, but this was only a temporary measure. She had a plan now, but that all hinged on if she could get the word out.

She held her damaged helmet up, momentarily staring forlornly into the nearly shattered visor, and slipped it onto her head. "Please work…"

Hopefully there was just enough power left to… Yes! She tapped out a one word command/request to the Federation fleet orbiting Petrarch Prime. 'Attack.'

Likely come tomorrow, the "orks" would find out the hard way what happened when you took a squabbling band of rabble against an organized, disciplined military force. And she was going to do whatever she could to muck things up on this end. Provided she didn't get caught and killed. But then, that was sort of her standard operating procedure.


	4. A Brutal Lesson

Chapter 3: A Brutal Lesson

Petrarch Prime: Refinery

Samus Aran found herself violently jolted awake by an explosion, almost cracking her head against the bulkhead above her in the tiny little nook she had sequestered herself into in the interest of keeping well out of the reach of both the orks and Bjorn. The former, because they were singularly vile and their breath alone would rot through tank armor. And the latter because he'd humiliated her, twice over. Beating her, very literally, and then not killing her just because of her sex. If the explosion was what she hoped it was, and not just something the orks had done to themselves, then that big oaf and his goons might soon get their comeuppance.

She slid herself out of her little hole, shoving the stolen bedding back into place, and literally not a second after her heels hit the floor Bjorn came lumbering around the corner. "**Dere you iz, I waz lookin fer you.**" The big brute jabbed a thumb over his shoulder as another explosion went off. "**Dere'z finally sum gits datz attakin us. Youz want in on dis?**" A great smile spread across Bjorn's face. "**I iz sure mistah Wrenchfist'd be mor den appy ta elp ya figure out da inz an outs of ya new kan.**"

She scowled, ignoring the question completely. "How did you find me? I picked this spot specifically because it was extremely out of the way."

Bjorn just looked at her for a long moment, as if the question was confusing. "**Er, Iz just waz finkin dat 'da lady can't be dat ard ta find' and Iz turn da corna an dere ya waz.**"

She put a hand to her forehead, letting out a long sigh. "Yeah, dumb luck would cover it." She shot a half-glare up at the giant. "I think I'll pass on the invitation."

Bjorn stood there silently for a moment, awkwardly. "**Eh, youz want ta watch den? Iz already went ahead an made youz a spot ta sit.**"

Two more explosions rocked the refinery before she stopped simply glaring at the big buffoon. "Sure, why not?" She added under her breath, at a significantly lower volume than her last muttered comment; "If only to watch you get blown apart."

Bjorn smiled dumbly. "**Oh, an one mor fing, Iz really can't take ya to da spot myself. Iz got ta get out to mah boyz and start da fight up.**" The giant looked left, then right, and then put two fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-numbingly loud whistle. "**Lucky? Where you at ya little grot?**"

The answer came almost immediately, and a tiny little green thing stepped out from behind Bjorn's pillar of a leg. "Here boss."

The "grot" was the saddest little thing she had ever lay eyes upon. Clearly, "Lucky" was a study in irony. The grot had one hook hand, one entire arm replaced with a crude grabbing tool, two peg legs, one ear severed at the skull, was covered in scars from the head down, was missing most of its teeth, had one mechanical eye, and was hunched over at the shoulders far worse than any of the other orks in the building that she'd seen. It was so pathetic looking that she actually felt a small twinge of sympathy for it, him, whichever it was.

Bjorn laughed, loudly. "**Dere you iz, ya sneaky little grot.**" The oaf looked back to her. "**Well,** **datz dat den, Iz hope youz enjoy da fight wen we getz started.**"

And with that Bjorn trundled off, completely steady on his feet in utter defiance of the shockwaves reverberating through the building. "Lucky" was barely standing as it was, so it was a mystery to her how the little grot remained erect.

Lucky waved her forward with its hook hand, before speaking with a refreshingly clear diction. "This way."

The grot started "walking" off in the same general direction as Bjorn, but soon took a right turn that led to a set of stairs. Lucky started climbing the stairs almost by flopping up like a fish, one set of limbs moving up after the other. Again, that twinge of sympathy. Her mind shifted from her, likely literally, downtrodden guide when she saw what she assumed to be the "spot" Bjorn had made for her to watch from. It was little more than a slab of steel that had been carved out of the wall on three sides and bent down to a flat balcony. It was shockingly simplistic, but the thing that really drew her attention was that the steel was over a foot thick and it was bent like tin foil. Helpfully though, on a bent piece of steel next to the impromptu balcony there was an extremely crude set of binoculars waiting. Bjorn had apparently half-anticipated she wouldn't want to fight on his side, but that felt like she was giving the giant too much credit. Regardless, perhaps if she could make eye contact with one of the Federation soldiers she could direct them to shoot Bjorn first. Dumb as he was, the orks were much dumber. Removing him would send the orks into complete disarray.

She made a shooing motion towards the grot. "You can go now."

She waited a long while after Lucky had departed, waiting to hear the clatter caused by the thing falling down the stairs, before snatching the binoculars and gazing out. On the far side of a large, dry basin the Federation had deployed a very sturdy looking defensive line. More marines than she had ever seen in one place, ever. And then there were the artillery batteries, massive machines hurling shells towards the refinery. To her considerable disappointment the shells seemed exclusively flak shells, designed to shock but not destroy. Apparently the Federation really wanted this building back intact. As for the guns themselves, she couldn't be sure from here, but they looked like Apollo-model siege engines, very high tech devices. And, there looked to be a handful of Zeus Assault tanks in the line, the highest per shot damage main-gun in the galaxy. Neither machine was pretty, both essentially metal boxes with guns strapped to the sides and roof, but they were nonetheless supposed to be effective.

She turned to look at the ork defenses, or what she assumed amounted to a "defense." All she could clearly make out was a mass or ork bodies, waving melee weapons and crude guns about while bellowing semi-random war cries interspersed with a great deal of gnashing teeth and rude gestures. A few of those cyborg orks were present, though she seriously doubted that they would function all that differently. She didn't see any examples of ork armor, the vehicular designation anyway. As for crude spiked plates, those abounded, though none were particularly that inclusive in terms of coverage. Apart from Bjorn's nearly-full suit of heavy plate of course. Speaking of the Warboss, he was right in the middle, sticking his head and chest up over the mound of dirt that counted as a defensive barricade.

She shook her head and turned her eyes back towards the Federation line, seeking someone on her side that she could make some measure of contact with. "Come on, some over there had better be looking…"

And then she found her man, a sergeant judging by the chevron on his shoulder armor. He was surveying the field just like she was, and their binoculars met. There was a second of awkwardness, likely because the marine simply couldn't quite understand what he was seeing, her out of her armor. But she conveyed her message/command clearly enough. She aggressively mimed shooting Bjorn, and when the sergeant across the way put his hand to his helmet she knew he got the message. One of the Zeus tanks lowered its gun and the large turret slowly tracked around, at which point she found herself holding her breath in anticipation.

The shot came, an incandescent blue laser that hit Bjorn square in the chest, just below the collar of his armor, and exploded brilliantly. From here, she couldn't see if the shot had separated Bjorn's head, but as soon as the cloud of smoke cleared…

A hand attached to a familiar arm stuck up out of the cloud accompanied by a familiar bombastic voice at a yell. "**I'z ok!**"

She felt her mouth drop open as Bjorn got back up, got back up after getting shot in the chest with a tank shell that would have ripped her suit in half. The Warboss wasted no time, he grabbed something big from one of the cyborg orks and pointed it at the tank. Something, something bizarre happened. There was a flash of light, but there was no projectile. At least not one she could see. The Zeus tank though, it bucked and lurched forward over the Federation defense line, main gun firing a wild shot off into the sky above the refinery before starting forward again at a fairly steady pace. Bjorn fired that odd "gun" again, and again, at the other Zeus tanks, and the phenomenon continued over the space of a few seconds.

She saw a stirring among the Federation lines, confusion, and the start of something she knew would end in disaster. "No, you can't possibly think that…"

The marines climbed over their barricades, advancing in measured steps to keep pace with the Zeus tanks and use them as mobile cover. Suppressing fire from marine rifles peppered the dirt in front of the orks, but only a few hit any of the green skinned monstrosities, and those few hits were laughed off. But the orks didn't shoot back, not yet at least. Which she found incredibly odd.

She muttered to herself. "What are they doing?"

Her answer came in the form of a piercing whistle from Bjorn. Out from behind a large rock formation towards the Federation side of the field came that gargantuan "squiggoth" Bjorn had been so proud of, Lumpy. It was loaded for bear, and crashed into the artillery and artillery crews while the orks on its back vomited out more rounds than she had fired in her entire lifetime.

Bjorn stood up from behind the dirt fortification and raised his sword high. "**WAAAGH!**"

The other orks echoed the cry and boiled over the ditch they had been hunkered down in to charge the Federation advance. Marine fire, swift and accurate, only managed to bring down a few of the less armored orks, before retaliatory fire from the green beasts turned the marines into fountains of gore. The Zeus tanks remained silent and stopped rolling, only for a few seconds before the tops popped open to reveal an ork per tank that immediately started lobbing explosive ordinance that erased scores of marines at once. How they had gotten inside she had no idea, but the Federation "advantage" in numbers was quickly turned on its head without their armored support. To a man, the advancing marines were destroyed, no that word wasn't strong enough, annihilated by either bullet, blade, or ork teeth. She was singularly appalled, and justifiably distraught. She'd just gotten several thousand men killed for no appreciable gain.

A feeling almost forgotten to her started welling up in her heart, chilling her blood to sludge, fear. The savagery of these orks made the Space Pirates saints, made Dark Samus look the part of a messiah. For god's sake, some of the orks were _eating_ the remains of the marines; peeling the Federation armor off like a sardine can and stripping arms and legs to bone in seconds. If this is what the Admiral had spared her from seeing on the fleet, then she was sincerely grateful, though the gesture was now moot.

And Bjorn, that giant hadn't even had to _do_ anything. But he was still out there in the thick of things, laughing like an overgrown kid in a candy store while human bodies were horribly mutilated around him. The man, if man he really was, was clearly psychotic. At least that was her take, not that she had a doctorate to make that opinion an educated one.

She slumped down and took a seat, legs dangling over the edge of her little perch, resting her chin in her left hand. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

Perhaps due to long, long habit, her mind automatically drifted to her power suit, or what was left of it. She didn't hold out much hope that it would function well, but this battlefield demonstration at least planted the idea in her head that maybe, just maybe these orks knew their way around weaponry enough to have made something she could use. That one gun she had seen demonstrated, whatever it had been, had blown a hole in solid steel with one shot. It might not be enough, not nearly enough given what she'd just seen, to take down Bjorn, but maybe there was something else in the ork arsenal that she could steal or get them to just give her. For whatever reason, Bjorn trusted her. She didn't understand it at all, especially given that she'd tried, no matter how pathetic her attempt had been, to kill him.

She stood up. "I'll figure something out. I haven't failed a job yet, and I don't intend to start now."

A voice spoke. "What job?"

Her spine became an iron bar, and she slowly turned around to see that the little grot, Lucky, was standing right there. How had he snuck up on her? How had he come up those stairs without making an unholy racket? Unless, unless he'd never gone down them. In which case… In which case he'd probably heard everything, seen everything.

A thought occurred to her. "Oh, wait, this problem is easy."

She took three steps to get behind the little green beast, and kicked it off the edge of the crude balcony.

She looked over the edge, saw nothing moving, and a smirk spread across her face. "Well, not so lucky anymore, are we?"

It was hardly a thing to be proud of, killing a mostly helpless thing like that, but it was a step in the right direction. Now, to find her way back to that "mech shop…"

Petrarch Prime: Mech Shop

Samus Aran stood there in silence, a profound melancholy again settling over her as she gazed upon the hulking monstrosity that the orks had turned her power suit into. The damn things had even gone and re-acquired her helmet, slaving that piece to the monstrous whole. The suits profile had been dramatically altered, roughly into the size of a Space Pirate berserker lord and almost as broad. It was so bulky in fact that it had been fitted with _hydraulics_. She would not be jumping, like, at all. On the plus side, if she were trying to be very optimistic, the thing was bristling with, er, weapons. There was that one gun that had replaced her arm cannon, not that she remembered what Bjorn had called it. It was powerful no question, but, it was completely alien tech. There would doubtlessly be a learning curve. As for the rest of the armaments, she could only make guesses based on the profile. There looked to be some manner of, missile pods perhaps, strapped to the back. There was a large, eh, thing strapped to both shoulders, though she had no idea how she was supposed to aim those, if at all. Of course, perhaps those "guns" she would guess, were linked to the helmet. If so, that would make a measure of sense. If she assumed that she could see out of the blasted thing. The visor had been shaved down to a tiny slit, which was likely a double edged sword. Sure, she might not get shot in the face, but if she couldn't even see where she was walking…

She sighed. "I really wonder how this is supposed to be 'better' than what I had."

A cacophonous clatter in the distance behind her signaled the return of Petrarch's current occupiers. And it was with little surprise that she heard Bjorn among them. He was louder than any six of the other orks combined, which was in no way a good thing by her. She was probably sustaining ear damage just by being around him.

Boots sounded out on the metal floor behind her. "Oy, humie, what you doin in ere? Youz betta not be mukin about wif my gubbins."

She looked over her shoulder and identified the cybernetically enhanced ork that Bjorn had called "Wrenchfist," before speaking. "Bjorn said you might help me…" She swallowed her pride and said the words. "… Help me out with my suit, seeing as how you fixed it."

The ork's face shifted dramatically, looking almost happy. "Oh, so datz why youz ere!" The big brute elbowed by her and climbed up onto a platform next to her suit. "Well don juzt stan dere ya puny git, get on in!"

The ork pressed a button and the metal monstrosity opened up, like a flower if she felt poetic, which she didn't. The lowest, and middle flange of the suit had a set of steps on it, which she gingerly took before turning about and settling backwards into the metal coffin.

Wrenchfist spoke, and she really wished that these orks would stop shouting. "Ok, Iz turnin da fing on now. Watch dat ya don get yer ands pinched off."

Taking the advice dead seriously she folded her arms across her chest and waited for the suit to close. She assumed that she would have room to spare, just judging by the size of the torso of this metal abomination. And indeed, she had more than enough room to move her arms comfortably. Oddly enough, when the suit had closed fully it was rather uncomfortably restrictive to her breasts. Her limbs were fine, but her torso was pinched. She supposed she shouldn't expect more from these orks, but she hoped that they had done a far better job with the weaponry.

The cyborg ork kept talking, mercifully muted slightly by the thickness of the suit's helmet. "Ok, youz should be seein somefing on da inside of dat cap. Put it on da wall ova dere an pull da trigga in da right arm."

She vividly remembered what this "gun" did, and if it worked consistently she might be willing to concede that it could be an acceptable replacement for her power beam. The lack of adaptability could be a problem in the long run, but one step at a time. The trigger in question was completely overlarge for her finger, but it moved smoothly enough and the resultant laser blast vaporized a nice two-foot square section of the metal wall. Amusingly enough, the hole from yesterday was right next to the new one, and it had been patched with a crude, thin slab of metal. She made a mental note of that, sure that it could be useful later to her or the Federation.

Wrenchfist let out a "whoop" when the weapon fired correctly. "Dat'z sum proper orky dakka right dere. I'z right proud of mah beamy deff gunz. Gotz to get moar of da boyz shootin wif dem soona or latah."

Another twinge of fear/unease ran through her. The orks had more of these "beamy death guns?" If so, she was lucky she hadn't been shot by one of them when she first made planetfall. And good god, how devastating would it be against Federation armor when the standard ork bullets ripped through the marine suits like paper?

Her ork handler roared out again. "Ok, next fing on da list." The cyborg pushed a large button. "Try movin da big shootas. Look at da ole in da wall youz juzt made."

She obeyed, assuming that the ork was talking about the weapons mounted on the shoulders of the machine. As she turned her head her suspicion about the shoulder guns being linked to the helmet were confirmed. A low whirring noise reverberated through the suit as she looked toward the hole, though she didn't know at the moment where the trigger was for the both of them. Of course, the cyborg ork was probably going to tell her in short order.

Wrenchfist immediately did so. "Da triggah should be in da left arm, pull it!"

She obeyed once again, and suddenly became very much aware why the visor had been trimmed down so much. The muzzle flash from both thunderously loud guns would have rendered her completely blind otherwise. And the kick, she felt the guns want to climb till their barrels were pointing skyward. Only the sheer bulk of the suit kept that from happening, and forced her to have a grudging measure of respect for the orks that toted these things around as single-user weapons. On the bright side, the solid steel wall was riddled with fist-sized craters. The "big shootas" weren't accurate, at all. But when you threw that many rounds something's way…

A derisive snort escaped her. "Seems that's their whole motto, 'who cares about aiming' they might as well shout."

Wrenchfist either didn't hear her or didn't care to rebuke her statement. "I fink datz all da gubbins wez can test inside. I ain't lettin ya muk about wif explosives next to mah ovah shiny bits."

She cast a wan glare around the whole mech shop. "Nothing in here is shiny."

That, the ork heard that. "Not yet dey ain't. Deyz all gettin nice, shiny coats a paint soon. I iz finkin Iz paintin da lot ov em red. Less da Warboss as any ova ideas."

And she actually started to look, seriously look at the other masses of metal scattered around the workshop. Tires, treads, more spiked plates than was healthy, and really, really big cannons. Now it made sense why the orks hadn't fielded any armor, they hadn't finished building them yet, not that it really would have made a difference out on the battlefield. Although it really made her wonder where these orks had come from in the first place. Wouldn't the vehicles already be assembled if they were an invasion force? And for that matter, where was the ship they had arrived on? Certainly the Federation would have known if they had built their most important fuel refinery on a planet inhabited by green, warlike monstrosities. So, what explanation worked for this scenario?

Wrenchfist clambered down from his platform and stood in front of the suit she was inside. "So, datz dat den. Da boss said dat fings urs, so, ave fun wif it. Watch dat youz don step on any grotz on ya way out da door."

A thought occurred to her, and she voiced it, trying with all her might to not sound at all suspicious. "What about that weapon Bjorn, the Warboss, what about that weapon he used on the tanks outside. What was that?"

The cybernetic ork instantly began radiating pride. "Dat waz mah kustom shokk attack gun. Tellyports boyz instead a grotz. Iz juzt wish I cud a seen da look on dose gitz faces wen an angry boy popped out a da warp right in dere gob."

Wrenchfist started cackling wickedly, with good reason in her mind. A man-portable teleportation device precise enough to completely invalidate enemy armor? That, that was flat-out amazing. How did these brutes come up with something that ingenious? On one hand they used bullets, and on the other they pulled off something even the Chozo hadn't managed. That was an incredible paradox.

She shook her head slowly, momentarily forgetting that she was still inside a metal behemoth. "Just when I think I have them figured out…"

Wrenchfist lumbered past her, ducking under the suit's beamy death gun. "We orks is da best. Datz all ya need ta know."

She found that rather unlikely. But…


	5. Proper Orky Violence

Chapter 4: Proper Orky Violence

Petrarch Prime:

Samus Aran silently stared out across the battlefield from the previous day, now entirely picked clean by the ork scavengers. "Lootas" they called themselves, thieves and pillagers that would disgust even the Space Pirates. There was nothing left out there but discarded bones, depleted shells, and perhaps a few indignant ghosts. She'd encountered plenty of ghosts on Tallon IV; she knew they were possible.

And speaking of possibilities, there was the very likely possibility hanging overhead, quite literally actually, that the Federation wasn't done with Bjorn and the orks. They wanted the building intact, but how many losses would they tolerate before the metaphorical "nuke it from orbit" option started looking very appealing? Tough or not, she very much doubted that any ork would survive orbital bombardment. Bjorn, well, he'd already proven unnaturally resilient, who knew how far that extended? Maybe the brutish oaf could actually survive such an attack.

A heavy, thud, thud, on the floor far off, but closing, sounded, and she slowly shook her head. "Speak of the devil…"

She turned her head, looking past the hulk of her 'junk suit' to where Bjorn rounded the corner. As usual, the relentlessly cheerful Warboss had a big grin on his coal black face. In fact, the only time she knew of when he hadn't been happy was that very first time they had met, and he had had a very good reason to be cross. She mentally braced herself for the man's booming voice.

Bjorn spoke, exhibiting that very volume she dreaded. "**So Iz see ya got ta testin ur kan.**"

The big man reached up and lightly poked the metal behemoth, causing it to tilt dangerously close towards falling. Bjorn awkwardly grabbed for the machine, keeping it upright, and shockingly, not crumpling the metal between his fingers.

The Warboss chuckled lightly, for him. "**Eh heh, so, do ya like it?**"

She scowled viciously, and though she wanted to ignore the giant she felt somewhat compelled to respond. "I can't say. I haven't really gotten to use it yet."

She surprised herself. That was a very mild way of putting her dissatisfaction. It was true though. Weaponry aside; the only way to make sure this hunk of junk actually worked was to put it through its paces on a battlefield. Of course, that required a Federation attack. Unless she wanted to get torn apart by the orks and Bjorn, especially Bjorn. She didn't think she could honestly bring herself to shoot a Federation marine, but perhaps she could get away with "missing" a marine and hitting an ork. Win/win, she tested her gear, orks died.

Bjorn looked skyward for a moment. "**You fink dat dem gits up dere'll be attakin again soon? Da boyz iz getting restless.**"

She rolled her eyes, but nonetheless saw a chance to attempt to learn something. "And, what? That will make them even worse?"

The giant shook his head slowly. "**Nah, dey might just want ta go ome and bak ta pillaging dem poncy Eldar pansy boyz an dem Empire gitz.**" Bjorn shrugged. "**Iz kinda waz finkin bout it myself, cause dez gitz ain't puttin up dat much of a fight. But Iz opin dat dere's somefing ere dat iz worf da boyz time.**"

Completely confused, she made that known. "Wait, what? 'Pansy boys?' Who are they?"

Bjorn flashed a big smile. "**I don fink you'd know dem. Deyz sum fancy, frilly gitz from da same big galaxy da boyz iz from.**" After a moment, the big man added something. "**Eh, which iz not dis place.**"

She blinked slowly while trying to process that. Bjorn said that the orks were from a different "place." And since she hadn't seen a space-worthy ship, she was forced to assume that he meant, a different galaxy entirely. At once that made a lot of sense, and none at all. On one hand it would explain how Bjorn and the orks had just shown up out of nowhere on an already occupied world. And on the other, well, she was forced to assume that there were parallel dimensions, or something similar. Like Dark Aether just, more green and violent. Actually, that was a good question, what kind of world would have supported the development of these barbarians? She had to think that the orks would have been likely to blow their own planet up before they developed space-flight, assuming that they had even done so. Then again, that shock attack gun was _very_ impressive…

A muffled 'whumph' broke the silence, before Bjorn shattered it. "**Oh zog it, Iz told dem not ta muk about wif dem explosives.**" The Warboss looked at her, looking oddly disappointed. "**Iz sorry, but Iz got ta go an knock sum eads about till da boyz figure out dat no means no.**"

She fought to keep a cruel smirk off of her face. "By all means, knock away."

She waited in silence as Bjorn lumbered off, watching him the whole time so she could avoid a repeat event like the one with "Lucky," and eventually she stopped sitting on the Federation com she'd managed to salvage from one of the dead marine armor suits while the orks weren't looking. It had enough power for a few days, and hopefully that was all she was going to need. If not, she'd have to find some way to adapt an ork power source so she could keep in contact with the other side of this little war; and there was no denying that that was what this had become. She just had to help the Federation find that one edge that would win this.

She clicked the small device with her thumb, hesitating only momentarily before raising it to her lips and speaking as softly as she could manage. "This is Samus Aran, is anyone on this frequency?"

A few moments of silence passed, during which she cast frequent, anxious glances over her shoulder back towards the refinery, before a young man's voice answered. "Miss Aran? Really?"

Anxiety was immediately replaced by irritation. "Yes, really. Can you connect me with the Admiral?"

A few seconds passed, during which another muffled explosion went off in the refinery behind her, before Admiral Dane finally spoke. "Samus? This is a pleasant surprise given the circumstances."

She shot a quick glance behind her. "More than you know." She lowered her voice. "Please tell me that you're on the offensive again soon."

The Admiral let out one short laugh. "Of course we are. Fortunate you reached out; the second lance is already on its way." A second passed. "Actually, if you want to do our troops an immeasurable service, you could lead these monsters into an ambush. If you think that's possible."

She sneered. "Oh that will not be hard. All I have to do is say…" She purposefully mangled her speech. "…Iz saw sum gitz ova dere. Letz krump em!" She shuddered. "Ugh, I never want to do that again."

A long silence fell. "They really talk like that?"

She responded. "They do. I feel like my IQ is falling just by being near them. But I think we both know that they're still dangerous despite their stupidity."

She _heard_ the Admiral Dane scowling. "Indeed. We will not be making the mistakes of yesterday's assault again." The Officer paused momentarily. "We have our aerial forces deployed in earnest, full armored divisions, and all infantry have been ordered to overclock their arm cannons as far as they can. We _will_ drive these creatures into the ground, and we _will _exact retribution for the men that were slaughtered yesterday, and before our arrival. We will…"

She smirked lightly at the speech. It was very typical, but she supposed it was something that commanders just did. Unless she were talking about Bjorn. That "commander" just shouted one word and somehow worked every ork into a blood frenzy completely unrivaled in the scope of her experience. Part of her wanted to ask Bjorn directly what in hell that one word meant, but she doubted that she would get an intelligent answer.

After a few more seconds of speech she interrupted. "Just, let me know where to point the orks and we can get this done."

The response was swift. "The crags where your ship went down. We've been massing troops there since I ordered an orbital strike to destroy that roughshod AA gun. You get them there, and we'll drop bombs into the confined space until they run right into our tanks and infantry."

She was no military strategist, but it sounded feasible enough to her. "Consider it done." She glanced back at the refinery. "You might want to send a dropship by just so they have something to chase."

Petrarch Prime: Refinery

Samus Aran walked her hulking suit into the Mess Hall, amidst the shouting and flailing green fists, and mentally prepared herself. She did not consider herself a good liar, out of simple lack of practice. It wasn't that she didn't think Bjorn or the orks would be hard to fool, it was that she doubted how she was going to fit in to this plan after she fooled them into diving headlong into the Federation ambush.

Bjorn, seated on the floor in front of a big table, noticed her and waved excitedly. "**Ello! Iz youz ungry or somefing?**"

She cleared her throat. "I, saw those soldiers landing out in the rocks. There looked like a lot of them."

A moment of silence passed, during which she momentarily entertained the notion that she wasn't actually being believed, before the orks burst out in even louder roars and started streaming past her without even waiting for an order from Bjorn.

She blinked once, twice, before mumbling to herself. "Well, that was easy."

Bjorn stood from his seated position and trundled around the table towards her. "**So, dem gitz iz bak and ready fo anuva go?**"

Assuming that he was directing the question to her, she answered. "Yes. Right out where, er, where my ship crashed."

The Warboss pumped his fist in the air. "**YES! Mor fightin, mor lootin!**" Bjorn looked at her and grinned. "**An youz getting stuck in wif us dis time!**"

Before she could utter an objection of any kind Bjorn surged forward and hoisted her entire battle suit up onto his shoulder like it was a toy before sprinting off through the refinery towards the front far faster than she had thought he could run. All told, this junk suit had to be at least several tons in weight, so her opinion of the Warboss went up, grudgingly, by a marginal amount. Still, this presented an awkward problem. How was she going to radio the Federation to warn them that the orks were on the way when her mouth and comm was almost literally right next to Bjorn's ear?

She tried to sound innocent. "When exactly are you going to put me down?"

The big man cocked his head to the side to glance at her slit visor. "**Iz figure dat iz set ya down wen wez start shootin.**"

She cursed silently. The issue was now moot. She honestly didn't think it was worth her time to try and convince the oaf to set her down. He was too simpleminded to fool, oddly enough. But, perhaps she could work around this little setback. Slowly, she snaked her left arm up out of the corresponding arm of her suit, her temporary suit, and into the helmet. She tuned her comm to the Federation frequency and clicked it, just opening the channel and closing it immediately. She did that twice, waited a few seconds during which Bjorn started to draw dangerously close to the rocks, and did it again. Just before she got carried into the same maze of rock she had started this series of misfortunes in, the comm clicked open on the other end before going silent.

Bjorn stopped running, and she turned her helmet towards him. "Now do I get put down?"

Fairly gently, her suit was set down on its feet. And when she had her bearings she immediately found out why. The rest of the ork mob, why she thought of that particular word she didn't know, was gathered together in one big lump of green. She was fairly surprised that they had waited, considering the enthusiasm they had shown before running off. But, Bjorn was their Warboss, perhaps they didn't dare start without him?

Bjorn started barking. "**Whatz da word from da sneaky boyz? Cuz Iz know dat deyz already ben in dere.**"

An ork in black armor, freshly decorated with several Federation trooper armor plates, loped up to the Warboss. "Lotz a humie gitz in dere boss. An wez sure dey iz waitin fer us."

With that fact/notification she fully expected Bjorn to say, and she was paraphrasing, 'charge in there with wild abandon!' Of course, since nothing that she planned on this rock could go off smoothly Bjorn did not say that. The big barbarian just stood there for a long moment, crossing his arms across his chest and letting out a loud hum of thought.

Exactly five seconds later the Warboss apparently finished whatever thought had swam into his head. "**Hmm, so, Iz finkin dat dere ain't no reason dat we need ta charge inna dere dakka wen wez can make dem run inna ourz.**"

She said one word under her breath, making audible her confusion. "What?"

Bjorn snapped his fingers, and she was very glad she had a few inches of metal between the air and her ears, and continued. "**If dey iz hidin in da roks, den wez break da roks!**" The giant pointed back to the refinery. "**Get da dakkajetz an grot bommas! Da loota tankz an da bikez! Wez levlin all da roks!**"

Wait, "bombers?" "Jets?" She knew they had been building tanks and other ground vehicles, or at least what the orks called vehicles, but aircraft? "Shock attack gun" aside, she hadn't thought they had that in them. Aircraft were complicated, far more so than making a tank. Not that she had practical experience, she just knew it from scanning things and reading other things. The biggest point of confusion, why in hell did they call in a "grot" bomber?

Buzzing and rattling started building to the rear of the ork mob. And she immediately found herself at a loss for words. The slap-shod contraptions rumbling across the plains were every bit as ugly and deformed as she had expected. The clouds of inky smoke from the exhaust pipes alone had to be a crime against nature. Squealing rubber and screaming metal spikes only seemed to serve to make things ungodly loud, which seemed to be an unspoken requirement. Or maybe it was an explicit goal, she didn't know. The fact of the entire matter though, was that rickety "tanks" and what looked like archaic motorcycles were roaring towards her, and by proximate extension, the Federation. Her first instinct was, of course, to dismiss them as a legitimate threat, but she had learned the hard way that that was incredibly unwise. If they were armed with anything like the guns strapped to the shoulders of the junky contraption she was walking around in then they would chew through stone with little trouble. Although, perhaps it was safe to assume that they would be all but unable to engage an aerial target? And the Admiral had told her that they had air forces deployed…

At the thought of "air forces" another sound filtered through her helmet; a whirring, spinning sound. She tilted her head back, and suddenly the idea of flying orks seemed far less silly. They were airborne, yes, but their "jets" and "bombers" had propellers of all things. She was no aerospace tech, but she knew that if you wanted something to fly, a propeller was just about the easiest way to make it happen, and last. As for the craft themselves, it was very easy to tell which one was the bomber, and consequently the one she was most concerned about on behalf of the Federation. The "grot bomber" was the very definition of the term, "flying brick." It was covered in yellow armor plates, which were in turn covered with the seemingly obligatory spikes, had four large, swiveling tubes on the wings she assumed to be turrets, and had a very obvious hatch on the belly of the craft. How many bombs it could carry she didn't know, but any were a problem.

Feeling that she had no choice, she sidestepped away from Bjorn and lowered her voice as low as she could before opening a com line on the Federation channel. "Attack now; they're going to turn the rocks into rubble otherwise until you run out of cover."

Promptly, Federation airships boiled out of the rocks like hornets from a kicked nest. Though not equipped for it, some made immediate attacks on the opposing ork air forces, and the flaming hulk of one of the dakkajets crashed down in a fireball within seconds. But the other ork crafts took immediate offense to that, and their reprisal was far more severe. Ork pilots, cackling audibly even over the deafening gunfire, swooped and looped circles around the bulkier Federation ships. The latter, clearly meant to deal with ground targets, could not keep up with the technologically inferior ork craft, and were shredded. A great number of the doomed ships however, did succeed in making suicide strikes against the orks on the ground before total destruction, so that was something.

Bjorn bellowed, seemingly oblivious to the flaming carnage around him. "**Drop da grot bombz!**"

She looked up towards the craft the Warboss was yelling at, just in time to see a missile drop out of the belly hatch of the bomber. It was a missile with one of those grots riding on it, steering it. As confused as she was by the little grot's demented decent she nonetheless retained the presence of mind to clearly understand the resulting, and massive, explosion when the missile flew around the rocks to presumably drop right into the center of a Federation formation.

The Warboss called out another order as grey armored Federation marines and tanks started pouring out of the rocky crevasses. "**Ok boyz, letz get-**"

Bjorn was abruptly cut off by one of the doomed Federation aircraft making a suicide strike right in his face. All the ordinance, the ship's reserves of fuel and the engine core; all of that explosive power had to at least have done some damage, right? The blast was so strong that she felt the concussive force through her temporary suit's absurd amount of armor at almost fifty paces away. Surely no creature of flesh and blood, no matter how well armored…

Bjorn thrashed his way out of the flaming wreckage, burning fuel sticking to patches of his armor. "**Ok, now I iz mad!**" The giant hauled out his gun and barreled ahead into the Marines, tossing them about while shooting. "**Get stuck in boyz! WAAAGH!**"

She found herself just shaking her head. What was it going to take to kill this fool, drop a moon on him? Direct orbital bombardment?

Something went *clank* against the side of her helmet, and she turned to see an ork standing in a post-throwing stance. "Oi, youz gonna start shootin ya scrawny humie?"

She scowled. Right, the orks considered her on their side for now. But that wouldn't last very long if she refused to fire upon the Marines. Although…

A wicked smirk lit up her face. "I can shoot, of course. Doesn't mean that I have to actually hit any of the Federation. I mean, they can hardly criticize me if I miss and 'accidentally' hit an ork."

With that train of thought in mind, she brought her right arm up and lay the crosshair square on the back of an ork near the front of the fray that was grappling with three marines. The ork was clearly demonstrating that it was stronger than a human, as all three marines were completely unable to impede the ork's forward progress. She pulled the trigger on the "beamy death gun," and immediately regretted it. Somehow, the ork grappling with the marines tripped and fell flat on its face just as she fired. Her shot sailed harmlessly over its head. It was not, however, harmless to the three marines. Her shot hit the one in the center of the little formation and just about erased the man from the face of the planet. The two on either side, they had to consider themselves lucky that they only lost an arm and a leg from the blast, and their lives only moments later when the ork got back up.

With a furious scowl she turned the same gun on a different ork, one that was hewing a swath through the marines while rushing towards one of the Federation tanks. She fired again, and this time the ork did not trip. Instead, a marine with a drawn bayonet leapt from the crowd towards the ork's back and intercepted the shot. Adding insult to injury, the bayonet shot out of the explosion and buried itself, point first, in the chest of a different marine across the field that was just about to finish off an ork that six of his friends had restrained.

Getting incredibly frustrated she turned her gun on one of the ork tanks. A tank that was bucking and careening through the marines, belching out cannon rounds presumably as fast as the crew could reload their gun. Another shot, and for some unfathomable reason it bounced off at an oblique angle as the tank turned and her shot went up and struck one of the few remaining Federation aircraft. And again, and again… Time and time again, every shot she took, no matter with which weapon, be it the orky laser on her right arm or the giant bullets spewing cannons on her shoulders, every shot somehow missed the orks and hit Federation forces.

She pulled her arms from the triggers inside her suit and grasped at the sides of her head in blind frustration. Once was a misfortune, twice was a coincidence, fifty six times, that was practically divine intervention. How? How was this all happening? She prided herself on her aim. If she could shoot a dragon, Ridley, in the mouth while falling down a shaft enough to kill it, she was a damn good shot. Honestly, this was rather depressing. Because it felt like forces far, far beyond her control were kicking her life around for laughs. Then again, maybe the ork targeting display was simply faulty. Which would make her feel a lot better. Of course that also presented the problem of how she could correct that. Because it was ork tech, as contradictory as that sounded, she could tinker with it for likely a whole month and never figure it out. And if she asked an ork to look at it, they'd likely think it was perfectly fine.

Of course, none of that actually helped right now. The Federation was getting slaughtered, again, and she couldn't do anything about it, again. Although, if she stopped pretending to be on Bjorn's side… She took one step and the suit's display shut down. The arms went limp. Her exit hatch jammed. She essentially became completely trapped in a metal box. Putting an end to any thought at all of actively resisting the ork's continued march to victory.

Petrarch Prime: Battleground

Light broke into the dim haze that her mind had slipped into while the war had raged on around her. Since the suit was sealed, she had slowly started to asphyxiate when the power went out. So, personal feelings aside, when the hunk of junk was cracked open she was almost overjoyed to see a bunch of green-skinned brutes quizzically staring into the hulk of the metal behemoth.

Bjorn's voice was almost welcome as he shoved his way into her view. "**You ok in dere lady?**"

Half dead, she still managed to manage a weak glare at the Warboss. "Please tell me you know someone better with computers than this bunch of morons."

A long moment passed, during which she was on the receiving end of some withering glares from the other orks, before Bjorn answered. "**Sure. Itz almost ben a week anyway.**"

Calmly taking long, deep breaths, she frowned at this statement. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Bjorn smiled, ignoring or oblivious to her tone. "**Cuz Iz promised my ma dat Id stop krumpin ta visit her every week. An my granpa iz probly da smartest git Iz evah met.**"

Her face screwed up in distaste as she thought to herself; 'Great, now I get meet his folks.'


	6. A Crushing Perspective

Chapter 5: A Crushing Perspective

Petrarch Prime:

Samus Aran found herself in the uncomfortable position of standing to Bjorn's far rear while he addressed a large group of orks. It was uncomfortable, largely due to the fact that she was standing there in nothing but her zero suit in front of several thousand orks each armed with guns that could blow her into two separate halves with one shot. Her suit, and she was quite willing to call it her own in this situation, was nothing but a giant paper weight right now. It, it was starting to get to her, if she were honest with herself. This feeling of helplessness. Nothing she did here seemed to amount to anything. Worse, seemed to actively explode in her face. And now she was supposedly getting dragged off to Bjorn's home, however the big oaf expected to do that.

The Warboss finished speaking to the orks. "…**An remembah, Iz don want you boyz startin anyfing when I ain't ere. If dose gitz com back, krump em. Ova den dat Iz want you boyz makin mor stuff. Truks, kanz, da fun fings. An build us one of dem battlewagons while youz at it!**" Bjorn turned around and crossed in two steps a distance that would have taken her six. "**Youz ready ta go?**"

She glared around at the empty air. "Ready for what? There's nothing here."

The giant flashed her a big grin. "**Not yet dere isn't. Watch dis!**"

With that, Bjorn waved his hand through the air and there was a faint crackling of deep black light. Within a few seconds there was a jagged, pulsating black tear hanging in midair. She would assume, based on her experience on Aether, that it was a portal, and she was instantly apprehensive about actually going through it. Bjorn was undeniably far more hardy than she was, what if the other side were hazardous? She couldn't get back on her own…

She found herself snatched up and tucked under Bjorn's arm as the giant laughed uproariously. "**Ere we go!**"

Only slightly aware that the Warboss had hoisted her non-functioning suit onto his opposite shoulder; she could not help herself from screaming and shielding her face as Bjorn leapt through the "portal."

Netherworld:

Samus Aran felt incredibly dizzy, but she couldn't feel dizzy if she were dead, and if she were dying then vertigo would likely be the last thing that she were feeling. Slowly, hesitantly, she lowered her hands and tried to get her bearings. Over a few seconds she drew her eyes across what appeared to be a volcanic cavern, the smell of sulfur and brimstone lent to that conclusion, and a black structure that looked like it had grown right out of the rock as it was. There were no tool marks, no chips, and no sign at all that it had been worked on. She looked down, and felt the bottom of her stomach drop out. She was on a floating rock suspended by seemingly nothing, flying over a tremendous drop to a giant pool of lava, or magma, whichever was the correct term. Suddenly, with a rush of warm air, and a sudden crunch of stone on stone, the flying rock came to rest against the black, upside down spire. A great number of shapes were moving back and forth at rapid paces, either oblivious to or ignoring the new arrival.

Bjorn took two steps and set her on her feet, before he bellowed like he usually did. "**I iz home!**"

The foot traffic, which had been rapid enough that she couldn't get much detail, stopped like a switch was thrown. Given her history, she immediately focused on the brown, green, blue, and red-skinned creatures that were gallivanting about with an incalculable array of objects. And they were staring back at her, faintly glowing yellow eyes all but lacking intelligence. Again, it was incredibly unnerving. Mostly, because they were looking at her as if she were little more than a piece of meat, and salivating.

A gentle voice, a woman's voice, called out. "As you were everyone."

The traffic resumed, and with that restart the small, gangly creatures faded into visual obscurity again. Standing rather a good deal taller than them, another figure began approaching. Given the surroundings, she was shocked to see that this figure was a woman, even given the voice only seconds before.

Bjorn bounded forward to meet this woman, dropped down on one knee, and exhibited a shocking amount of restraint when he hugged that other person. "**Ello granma!**"

That one word was like an electric shock. This woman was Bjorn's _grandmother_? She barely looked over thirty, maximum! Granted, she hadn't that much time to look before Bjorn had rushed into her line of sight, but there really wasn't that much room for interpretation.

The "grandmother" untangled herself from Bjorn's long arms and ducked under the behemoth's left armpit to look at her. "And, who is this Bjorn?"

Now she had a clear view, and again she found herself rather dumbfounded. The other woman, a blonde, was undeniably beautiful, enough so that she felt a very, very foreign twinge of envy. Her skin was as smooth as marble, which belied again the grandmother label. Otherwise, aside from the unsettling red and black eyes, the only thing she could comment on was that the other blonde looked maybe only three or four degrees of chubby off from physical perfection. How that worked, she had no idea.

Bjorn stood back up and half turned to make a grand hand wave towards her. "**Dis is…**" He paused for approximately five seconds. "**Eh, ya know Iz don fink youz evah actually told me ya name.**"

Put on the spot like that, she felt almost compelled to speak. "S, Samus. Samus Aran."

The blonde approached her and held out a hand, which she shook after an awkward second. "It's a pleasure, truly. I'm Sophitia." The older woman, if only just, shot a glance at the metal monstrosity Bjorn had dropped. "And, to what do we owe the occasion?"

The Warboss answered just before she could open her mouth. "**Da lady's new kan broke an she asked if Iz new sumone dat waz gud wif dem computing fings. An datz wen Iz said dat granpa iz da smartest git I know. An if any git ken fix, eh, whatevah is broke, it waz gonna be granpa.**"

Sophitia nodded slowly. "I, I see. You are going to be around here for quite a while, yes?"

Bjorn spoke again. "**I fink so. Courz dat depends on wat granpa can find.**"

Sophitia smiled lightly. "If that's the case, then why don't you bring that, ah, object down to your grandfather's workshop. I'll let him know you're on your way." The other blonde turned back to her as Bjorn lumbered off with her suit over his shoulder. "While that's getting sorted, would you like to stay for dinner sweetie?"

She was flummoxed, again. "Ah, wh, excuse me?"

The older woman laughed lightly. "I thought it was a clear offer. Are you hungry?"

She started to open her mouth, but her stomach answered for her with a very, very loud growl. The short answer was yes, she was starving. Bjorn and his ork had eaten heartily, and while she hadn't seen the Warboss actually consuming human flesh whatever else the oaf had been eating, just from the smell, seemed to her unfit for human consumption. That made, what, three days she hadn't eaten anything? She was most eager to "stay for dinner," she just didn't quite have the words to articulate that thought. Although depending on what exactly this other woman meant by "… for dinner…"

Sophitia acquired a big, slightly crooked grin. "Well, that seems to be your answer then, hmm?" The blonde gave her a 'come hither' gesture. "Come along, you can help me set the table."

Put out of sorts dramatically enough that she felt numb, she followed the older woman without really having the mental capacity to think about it. Who called her "sweetie" anyway? She was a bounty hunter that frequently blew up entire planets by accident, she was no one's "sweetie!" She cut swaths through the Space Pirates like a thresher in a wheat field! She was not "sweet!"

A stack of ten plates was gently shoved into her hands. "Here you go, just set them along the seats over there."

Justifiably confused, though she likely wouldn't had she been paying attention and not fuming internally, she immediately looked about to try and re-identify where she was. Still, she was surrounded on all sides by the black, seamless rock. But the hall she now stood in was quite vast, seemingly focused around a gigantic, meters long table in the center that seemed to have simply grown out of the rock. The chairs were marginally more normal, although all eighteen high-backed, padded chairs were quite opulent considering the surroundings. Two out of twenty were simple stone stools. Bright, presumably electric, lights hug from a large crystal chandelier over the center of the table. And on the table itself…

She fought the natural impulse to start drooling as she spoke. "Wow…"

Forget opulent, this setup was utterly regal, yet not quite decadent. There was a pig, stretched out and smelling of wood-smoke, suspended on a spit right in the middle. There were two smoked birds, what exactly they were she could not identify, placed along the table towards each end. Interspersed around these meat dishes were baskets of unidentifiable fruit and bowls of steaming bread. Yes, this looked like something that would feed twenty people.

Another peal of laughter hit her ears, and she looked towards the source, Sophitia. "It looks that good hmm? I'll take that as a compliment."

She looked at the table and back to the older blonde. "Wait, you, all of this, by yourself?"

Sophitia simply smiled. "Well, obviously I didn't cook the fruit." Another short laugh. "Really, I take care of the baking, anything you can make with an oven. The meat, that's Erasmus at work. It's rather funny to me, all of us really, that he can grill things as well as he does, not being able to taste and all. Must be he does it entirely by smell." Sophitia started walking towards the wall. "Excuse me for a moment."

The older blonde pulled a cord on the wall. Somewhere else in this infernal home a deep, bass bell rang. Nothing immediately happened, but it was a bell. Presumably that was just a notification that dinner was ready.

Sophitia had turned back to the table, and was pointing and muttering. "Oh, hmm, I think we'll need another chair." The older woman looked off into space for a moment. "Dear, would you be so kind as to…"

Spontaneously, a knuckle of black rock sprouted from the floor next to one of the other stone stools. No warning, no explicit reason. Ergo, as she was lead to assume, "magic." Although, who exactly had Sophitia been talking to?

The older blonde spoke. "If you'd like to take a seat everyone else will be here in just a few minutes."

As she assumed the new rock to be hers, she sat down. It was by no means comfortable, but then she wasn't comfortable being here anyway. So it wasn't all that disconcerting.

Netherworld: Dining Hall

Sophitia Killgore found herself rather perplexed, which wasn't all that odd enough considering how many strange things got thrown her way on a regular basis. But this young woman, no, this girl that Bjorn had brought home; she was unusually odd. This Samus was looking around like she expected to be eaten at any moment. Although admittedly that was fair, Bjorn's orks did tend to leave a person on edge. But, perhaps it was just her motherly instincts, the violent start the girl had made upon being called "sweetie," something about that just roared "tragic past" to her. Made her just want to go over and give the girl a hug, one that wouldn't crush half the bones in her body. On that note, she hoped that Bjorn hadn't "hugged" the girl. The boy surely meant well, he just didn't know his own strength.

Her attention turned from the houseguest to the empty seat to her immediate left, and she spoke up. "Does anyone know where Acheron is? He usually isn't late like this."

The general chatter did not wane, but one of Acheron's mistresses, Juno, responded. "I think he said, like, that he was following up on a lead to that big treasure he was looking for. Might have been the real deal."

A female's laugh cut through the inane voices, a very obvious one. "**Sure, like this isn't the fiftieth time he's said that.**" Persephone took a breath and continued. "**I don't see why he's even bothering. It's not like we need the gold, or jewels, or whatever else he could possibly find.**"

She started to say something, but Ivy beat her to it, rather curtly too. "Do you criticize your father for his hobbies?"

Persephone grumbled an answer. "**Well, no, of course not.**"

Ivy's rebuke, fittingly, was whip-sharp. "Then extend your brother the same courtesy."

She smiled lightly, feeling a twinge of sympathy all the same. Persephone needed a bit of tough love, Erasmus was very right about that. Considering that she was rather significantly to blame for spoiling Persephone, even though the young Overlady was Ivy's direct daughter, perhaps it was a good thing that Acheron hadn't been raised by her through the formative years of his life. That thought irritated her quite a bit, because it implied that the minions and a bunch of ignorant Nordburgians were better parents than she was.

Another young woman, "Queen" Fay judging by the voice, aired another question over the cacophony. "Speaking of father, where is he?"

She answered that, tickled a little that Fay was calling Erasmus "father." "His workshop, of course. You know he's had his hands full wiring electricity through the house, but he has a different excuse tonight." She gestured towards Samus. "I'm sure you all noticed Bjorn's guest. Erasmus is working on something for her."

Samus, who had shrunk when introduced at the start of dinner, cringed further as the figurative spotlight was put back on her. Bjorn, who was sitting next to the young woman, clearly noticed this, and frowned accordingly. Regrettably, even though the boy was her grandson, she didn't have the foggiest idea of how his mind worked yet. She blamed the orks for that, even though she was forced to silently thank the green barbarians for somehow keeping him alive. Why they had let a five year old child live, and more than that, taken him in, was a mystery Bjorn had yet to elaborate on. And, she doubted she would really understand even if he had.

She spoke directly to the Bjorn's guest. "Are you enjoying yourself dear?"

Samus's face jerked up like she'd been slapped. "Wha… Oh, uh, sure. Yeah…"

She didn't believe that for a second, but she acted like she did. "What do you think of the bread? I tried a different blend of honey and nuts for the glaze."

Samus's wide-eyed, borderline panicked stare intensified. "Ah, I, er, I really can't say. I've never, I've never had dinner like this."

She smiled warmly. "A 'yes I liked it would suffice.' I get far too little constructive criticism on my cooking." Her smile became more humorous. "It's almost like my family is afraid to speak ill of it."

All the chatter cut out instantly, crashing the table into dead, utter silence. Nervous glances started getting slung around, not even exclusively from her daughters-in-law. Even her peers, Erasmus's other wives were fidgeting like a bomb was about to go off.

She laughed softly, and spoke not so softly. "I'm joking. Really, why would I ever suspect anyone here of that?"

A collective sigh was released. Which forced her to consider that, perhaps for the rest of the family it wasn't a joke? After a few moments of silence a different sound came into the room from the foyer/throne room, the sound of the portal dropping someone off.

Acheron burst in, flourishing his hat in a grandiose movement. "**I have returned!**" The family's eldest son took a moment looking around the room, and his amber eyes zeroed in on Samus like some predatory bird. "**Hello now, who's this?**"

She spoke up quickly before her son got any ideas. "Acheron, this is Samus. She's Bjorn's guest."

And when she said "guest" she made sure to put extra emphasis on the word so as to say to Acheron, "no funny business." Notorious womanizer that Acheron was, if no one told him otherwise Acheron would have Samus bucking in his bed in the throes of ecstasy within the hour. Maybe she was selling Samus's good sense short, but it was best to be cautious in situations like this.

The self-titled pirate, though he was not extremely overt about it, got the message and restrained himself to a, "Nice catch" comment directed towards Bjorn. Samus didn't seem to know what to make of the remark, but, it wasn't that far outside the realm of possibility that Bjorn was interested. No one but Bjorn knew that, and she had to wonder if he knew what to do if that were the case.

She muttered to herself as Acheron took a seat. "Now, should I get Erasmus to ready another room just in case…"

Netherworld:

Samus Aran felt like she was standing on the edge of a knife, a scant centimeter away from getting cut in half for saying or doing the wrong thing. Granted, the other people here, and she was exceedingly shocked that the other residents were actually people, seemed to be rather pleasant. But, that did nothing to alleviate her near crippling anxiety. And now Bjorn was herding her, more or less, deeper into this mild Hell than she thought possible. The man, and she had to call him that now at least, had only said something vaguely hinting at their destination.

On cue, as if thinking about it had prompted him, Bjorn stopped in front of a large stone slab. "**Ready ta meet my ma?**"

She shuddered. Sure, meet the mother kept far away from everyone else behind a giant stone door. That wasn't ominous or threatening at all.

Bjorn brought his hands up and gave the slab a mighty shove, sending it swinging inwards with a great grinding noise, before bellowing into the space beyond. "**Ma! I iz back!**"

The space beyond the doorway, shockingly, was a cavernous grotto that opened up onto a sun dappled beach. A hazy-edged, several stories tall rectangular window of what she again assumed to be magic allowed this view. Crystal blue ocean water, she could tell by the salty tang in the air, on a breeze no less, stretched for at least a full kilometer to her left and right as small, calm waves caressed the "shore." At least they were calm for a moment, once Bjorn shouted a disturbance tore through the water towards the both of them, erupting from the spray with a great wave that, fittingly, drenched her and Bjorn. The latter obviously didn't care, or even react.

She swiped the deluge from her eyes, and felt her jaw drop. Propped on the beach/sandbar/whatever-it-was in front of them was, for lack of a scientific term, a mermaid. And not just one of those mythological creatures, a mermaid tall, or perhaps "long" was the word, enough to dwarf Kraid, Quadraxis, and other gargantuan foes she had faced. Pink scales on her tail, pink hair, a pink hairpiece; so much pink it almost hurt. And the look on this mermaid's face was one of utter joy.

The giant creature cried a squeal of delight. "Bjorn!" With both hands, the mermaid reached down and _picked up Bjorn_. "My little boy, I missed you so much!"

Whatever Bjorn said back, if anything, was drowned out by the "motherly" blubbering of the giant mermaid. But, suddenly certain things made more sense, Bjorn's size first among them.

A voice came from behind her, nearly scaring her out of her skin with its suddenness and lack of warning. "**They are probably going to carry on for quite some time.**"

She turned, wide-eyed, to look at the source of the voice. Another giant of a man, fairly shorter than Bjorn, but still tall enough to tower over her, stood there. Blood-red eyes glowing strongly, obsidian-black armor glimmering. Was this Bjorn's "grandfather?" If so, he certainly seemed to be following the trend of agelessness set by Bjorn's so called "grandmother." That kind of a voice did not come from a throat old enough to have grandchildren. Not that she could see any facial detail to confirm or deny that claim. The man's helmet was curiously opaque even though it had a fair sized y-shaped cutout, save for the malevolent, glowing eyes.

The black figure cleared his throat. "**Once again, mother and son are going to be a while. I believe you would be rather interested to learn the status of, your 'suit,' yes?**" She nodded silently, and the man nodded coldly. "**Very well then.**"

The black figure raised his left hand and made a small, circular gesture. For her, it felt like the floor had dropped out from under her, but the sensation only lasted for about one second before she was standing in a different place, surrounded on almost all sides by mechanical pieces and parts that were arranged in highly organized fashions. Her replacement suit was easy to spot, being the most roughshod object in the entire display.

The red-eyed man, before moving anywhere, inclined his head towards her slightly. "**You may call me Erasmus if you feel the need. I am not one to stand on ceremony.**" Erasmus gestured to the metal behemoth that was her suit. "**I believe you will find that you do not lose power for no reason, though beyond that there is not much I can do in a short timeframe.**" He laughed once. "**This is after all, ork tech. I'd need a few days to reconfigure it to somewhat of a 'normal' arrangement.**"

Internally delighted, but nonetheless confused, she aired the obvious question. "What do you mean?"

Erasmus looked at her coolly for a moment before walking over to the ork-fashioned carapace. "**Quite simple really…**" The man reached up and lightly tapped on the back of the suit with his armored knuckles. "**The power supply here, wasn't connected to anything. The ammunition belts did not connect to their respective weapons. There are no air vents, or similar system for feeding oxygen to the occupant. All told, like most of the ork devices I have observed or dissected, it should not function. And yet it does in ork hands, or in ork proximity.**" Erasmus picked up a small part, that might or might not have come from her suit, and started idly turning it over in his hands. "**As I said though, it shouldn't die on you again in the heat of the moment. I addressed the points I mentioned.**"

She sighed with relief, and muttered to herself at an incredibly low volume. "Good. Maybe I can finally finish my job."

A horrid screech of metal on metal pierced the air, and all other sound seemed to immediately die. She looked up, and Erasmus was silently staring at the chunk of metal in his hands, a chunk that was now sporting four nearly through and through gashes that frighteningly seemed to have been caused by the man's bare hands.

Erasmus did not move, and his tone was incredibly neutral, but nonetheless he radiated malevolence. "**Your 'job' is it?**" He started chuckling softly. "**Would this be the job in which you were hired to kill my grandson?**"

Her heart stopped for three full seconds before it remembered that she wasn't dead yet.

Bjorn's grandfather started towards her at a casual, almost friendly pace, but his words were anything but. "**Oh don't be so shocked, I recovered your mission files from your crashed ship before Bjorn's troops could get their mitts on it. Quite the body of work you've got, quite the reputation. Doubtlessly you think your something of a hero, no? A legend perhaps?**" Erasmus's laugh took on an obvious note of cruelty. "**Don't flatter yourself.**"

She bristled at the attack on her career. "If you've seen my logs you know I've done the impossible."

The man's mirth, and air of superiority, did not wane in the slightest. "**I will grant, that what you say is the first impression many would draw. Until I made a simple observation, an observation that I might add, approximately ninety-nine percent of your beloved Federation has made.**" Erasmus jabbed a finger into her chest, rather painfully. "**That you are nothing without your power suit. That your accomplishments should be rightly attributed to it, and not you. That any trained soldier, given the same gear, could do the same 'impossible' deeds you have done.**"

His words struck a nerve, but she objected anyway. "That's not true!"

Erasmus glared at her, but his tone lightened. "**Oh? Think back, your first official mission. After you were shot down your sworn enemies, these Space Pirates, were **_**laughing**_** at you. Why? Because the local **_**wildlife**_** was suddenly more of a threat than you. Literally everything else on Zebes was a greater threat to them than you. Barring the borderline divine intervention from the dead, the ghosts of these Chozo, that planet would have been your tomb.**" She got the impression that the man was smiling, but it was far from pleasant. "**I have snuck about your Federation fleet. They are rather tickled that you aren't dead yet, those brave fighting men. Some are even quite annoyed. That you, the pedestal hero, should inexplicably live while thousands of them die trying to retake a rock that your wonderful suit should have been able to deliver them.**" Erasmus leaned down, bringing his face close to hers. "**And speaking of your inexplicable survival, it's not such a mystery to me. I do not claim to know my grandson's mind, but I can make an educated guess.**" He stood back up, arms crossed dourly. "**Bjorn is no stranger to facing women upon the field of battle, given his fairly vague accounts of his pseudo-exile. And he has killed scores of them. Why did he let you live? That is a simple question to answer; you are a novelty to him. A woman that is such an insignificant threat that he doesn't need to bother to kill you. He can even arm you and you are still less of a threat to him than drowning, which given his parentage should give you a clear idea of how much he worries about that.**" There was a chuckle. "**Perhaps there is even a scrap of attraction in that head of his, and all that he has done was some odd form of courtship. The point is, forget your job. Abandon all hope of conquest.**" Erasmus leaned back down, lowering his voice as well. "**Because, even if by some impossible stroke of fate you **_**do**_** manage to harm Bjorn, death would be a kindness compared to the fate you would endure.**"

She blinked, and the point of one of Erasmus's fingers was just resting on the center of her forehead. A half second passed, and incredible agony ripped through every cell of her body. It was like every shred of her being was engulfed in flame, every muscle strand, every atom. Worse, real fire blackened the flesh, killed the nerves so the pain stopped. This pain was not so kind. And she could not scream, she could only convulse, writhing with her face somehow attached to the point of Erasmus's finger. But worse than the physical pain, was the mental torment. No matter how much her spirit cried against it there was an undeniable truth behind the man's words. She _was_ powerless without her suit, as Erasmus was making so abundantly clear. Even if he were lying about the Federation's opinion of her, that still left her with nothing. No legacy, no achievements, and no hope.


End file.
